


To Keep From Boredom (Lestappen Week 2020)

by What_Is_Delatraz_Doing (MysticMusings)



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: ...Somewhat, But Also a Fair Amount of Friendship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I Decided to Stop Being a Coward and Post, Jos Verstappen's A+ Parenting, Lestappen Week 2020, Look at the Description for More Detail, M/M, Max and Jos Learn to Communicate, Technically An AU now?, a lot of aus, actually, lestappen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticMusings/pseuds/What_Is_Delatraz_Doing
Summary: A series of disconnected one-shots about these two drivers. Mostly centred around Charles and Max, but there might be some other minor pairings later on.One; In which Billie Eilish'sOcean Eyesperfectly exemplifies the dynamic between these two. Mainly exists because my sister was listening to it on repeat and it suddenly struck me how well this would fit with this pairing.Two; In which one is water, and one is ice, and they fit together in a way no one thought they would.Three; In which Charles and Pierre (and maybe Daniel) help Max bake a cake.Four; Max and Charles, and Ways the Media Circus Played Into It. Inspired by that interview by Walter Koster, in which he unwittingly gives us premium Lestappen Content.Five; In which Five years is a long time for things to happen, or how Max and Charles progress through time.Six; The baker-and-prince AU that no one asked for, featuring Charles, Max, + FriendsSeven; -To be posted-Essentially my first try at posting.Hope you Enjoy!(This should also be quite obvious, but this does not in any way connect with the actual drivers or what is going on in their lives or their relationships.)
Relationships: (the Carlando is in the background), Alexander Albon & Charles Leclerc & Lando Norris & George Russell, Anthoine Hubert & Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr & Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen, Lando Norris & Max Verstappen, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr, Petra Silander/Jean-Eric Vergne, Pierre Gasly & Anthoine Hubert, Pierre Gasly & Carlos Sainz Jr, Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly & Max Verstappen
Comments: 45
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

_ I've been watching you _

_ For some time _

_ Can't stop staring _

_ At those ocean eyes _

Charles first meets him when they are karting. It’s a blur, recollecting, and he doesn’t remember how old they were or what track it was at, but he remembers seeing that boy talking to his father as he walks to his kart. He meets piercing blue eyes for a second, raises his hand in an awkward wave, watches as the boy gives him a quick nod then looks back towards his father.

(He finds out that the kid's name is Max Verstappen, and he comes from a racing family. Charles asks Jules if he knows Max’s dad, but he and Charles’ father just exchange an uncomfortable glance and say that they’ve heard of him.)

_ Burning cities _

_ And napalm skies _

_ Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes _

_ Your ocean eyes _

Charles realised a long time ago that Max’s parents expected a lot out of him on track. His dad and Jules both tell him that what happens on track stays on track, and encourage him to make friends with the other boys. He, Pierre, Anthoine, and a few others usually play football or something together after the race, and he finally works up the courage to ask Max if he wants to play. Under the watchful eye of Jos, Max stiffly declines and then makes some excuse about having to get back home. 

(Carlos tells him after he gets back to the group in a broken Italian-English mix that Max never plays with them, but Charles had seen how he _ wanted _ to, how his eyes longingly flitted back at the group before he left. The elder takes a glance back at Max as they walk towards the others on the grass, and Charles thinks Carlos knows how Max feels, too.)

_ No fair _

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

The only feeling that Charles feels towards Max these days is a budding frustration. They compete on track fiercely, and even though he tries to let it go, to be friends with Max, (the way that Jules would have told him to if he was still here, and  _ not going to think about that, it still hurts too much _ -) the other can’t seem to get over himself. Charles clenches his fists and tells himself that if Max doesn’t want to be friends, then  _ fine _ , they’ll be enemies.

(And if a slight bit of that frustration is a longing for Max to acknowledge that he atleast knows  _ who Charles is _ , well, there’s too many swirling emotions to tell what’s happening. Pierre gives him a  _ look _ as he’s complaining to him that night, and gently tells him to let Max figure himself out, too. Years later he’ll think back on this moment when he hears the gas-station story.)

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _

He sees him again when he’s making his way to the Sauber garage at the start of the season, thrumming in excitement at what’s about to happen. Max is talking to his father as he walks to the Red Bull garage, and that sharp gaze is on him again, and suddenly Charles is that little boy at a go-kart track, looking into the same blue eyes with the same intense energy. He raises his hand in a wave, and Max nods once at him before continuing on his way. 

(Charles thinks he sees recognition in the Dutchman’s eyes, stuck as he watches Max and his father disappear into the Red Bull garage. He hopes for a minute that maybe they can be friends here, before a call from one of the Sauber mechanics jolts him out of his reverie; and once again, his thoughts are focused on the race that lies before him.)

_ No fair _

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

They’re at Suzuka -it’s his first time at the track in person, and Charles feels like there’s a piece missing from his heart, because every second on this track is a reminder of what was lost. He can’t stop his eyes from wandering to the turn- that  _ damned turn _ \- that had claimed his mentor, and he briefly wonders if he’ll even be able to drive past it without breaking. He passes Max in the paddock and Max touches his shoulder for a brief second, bringing his gaze up to Charles’.  _ You can do it _ , he seems to say,  _ Make him proud. _

(The feeling in his chest doesn’t leave even after the race weekend,  _ won’t _ leave until they’ve left Japan and all the memories that come with it. Charles doesn’t even really care that he didn’t finish the race at this point, because all he wants at this point is to go somewhere private to cry. He doesn’t notice that Max’s eyes seek him out from the podium, and that the smile drops from the other’s face when he finally does find him.)

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _

He’s signed for Ferrari, and he’s buzzing with excitement, because suddenly it seems  _ real _ that he could win a championship. He’ll be racing against Pierre and Max again, both at Red Bull, and he knows it won’t be easy, because they’re both formidable drivers, but it’ll be just like the old times. Sebastian Vettel, the four-time champion, is his teammate- the man is surprisingly nice to someone who looks like he could pose some serious competition, and Charles finds himself forming a friendship with him.

(Father, and Jules, this is for you.)

_ I've been walking through _

_ A world gone blind _

_ Can't stop thinking of your diamond mind _

As the season progresses, Charles finds that he starts to regain the excitement and wonder that drew him to racing in the first place. He recognises some of the other drivers from his karting days - Carlos, Alex, and Esteban made it to Formula one too- and the prospect of a battle with a certain dutchman is always fun. He hears Max’s musical laugh from the other side of the interview table, probably in response to whatever the interviewer had said, and thinks that the cloud that’s hung over his head since last year may have begun to lift.

(Anthoine crashes the weekend after that, and Charles feels a numbness creep inside him as he makes sure Pierre won’t do anything rash in the race. He wins the race -his  _ maiden podium _ \- feeling detached even as he proclaims that it’s for Anthoine. Max checks up on him, simply  _ looks _ at him with a profound silence, and Charles cannot stop himself from breaking down. Max steps inside and shuts the door, guides him to the bed and stays with him until he falls asleep.)

_ Careful creature _

_ Made friends with time _

_ He left her lonely with a diamond mind _

_ And those ocean eyes _

He spends more time with Max, to the point where Pierre teases him incessantly about it-

( _ ‘Come on, Pierre, I did not have a crush on him when we were kids!’ ‘If you say so, Charlie! _ ’ _ ) _

Charles realises one day, at a podium celebration when everyone’s focused on  _ him _ , that maybe he  _ does _ pay a little more attention to Max than is normal between friends. Pierre laughs at him with a ‘told you so’ when he confesses this, then settles to listen to him talk more about what he and Max had talked about post-race this time. 

(Charles wonders how he ended up with such an amazing friend, who will sit here and listen to the dumb stuff that comes out of his mouth 24/7 and sometimes in three different languages. He honestly doesn’t know what he’d do without Pierre.)

_ No fair _

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

Sebastian pulls Charles aside after a meeting one day, sitting him down in one of the vacant back-rooms. Charles would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, because the team strategies had been flipping back and forth between supporting Charles and supporting Sebastian and Monza had  _ not _ been a good race for the elder driver. Thankfully, it isn’t that - but Charles is unsure whether or not he would have preferred a talk about team strategy when Sebastian instead tells him to be smart if he decides he wanted to date Max- which, wow, maybe Pierre was right about him being obvious after all. 

(A part of his mind is also slightly wary of the fact that it is so clear who Ferrari is favouring in every race. It’s hard to build a team if the pilots are acutely aware of whether or not they are the team’s main focus, and Charles himself always feels an intense pressure to perform at better than his best all the time because he might lose favour if he doesn’t.)

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _

It’s in Singapore, at Marina bay with the lights shining down at all of them, that Charles really realises how smitten he is by Max Verstappen. He’s looking across the podium from his second place to Max’s third, sees the glimmer as the Dutchman’s eyes reflect the ever-bright lights, and even though Max isn’t looking at him his entire world  _ stops. _

(Later, Pierre teases him about his ‘lovestruck look’ while they are both playing some video game, long after the celebrations have stopped. Charles swats his arm, blushing furiously, and Pierre cackles like the gremlin that he is as the Frenchman beats Charles on-screen. Then he takes a quick glance at his mobile, before suddenly announcing that he has to leave for something unspecified, leaving a somewhat-confused Charles with a controller still half-held in his hand.)

_ No fair _

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

It all makes sense about five minutes later, when he opens his room door to get an armful of irate Max. He glimpses Daniel long enough for the Aussie to wink at him before the Renault driver shuts the door behind him. Charles doesn’t know if he should thank Pierre or not, because it was awfully nice of him to set up this impromptu confession scene, but at the same time  _ a little warning would have been nice, thank you. _

(Besides, it’s not like he actually has to confess, right? He and Max are friends, so they could play games or talk or do whatever it was that normal functioning people do. Pierre wouldn’t out him like that by telling anyone.)

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _

Then Max is extricating himself from Charles - if the Monegasque misses the contact, no one shall ever know - and they both stand there for what feels like an eternity but was probably just a few seconds. Charles is about to offer something to drink when Max takes a deep breath. Charles quiets, sensing unsaid words in the silence of the air, and waits for whatever it is Max wants to tell him.

(A little part of him suggests that perhaps this impromptu confession session isn’t for  _ Charles _ to confess, but he shuts it down as soon as it occurs to him. Max looks troubled right now, and Charles should be paying attention to what he needs and not fantasies of what he wished would happen.)

_ No fair _

_ You really know how to make me cry _

_ When you gimme those ocean eyes _

Then Max is talking, saying something about how he loves him and that his eyes are the shade of the sea and the light-patterned leaves at the same time, about how he hopes this won’t make anything awkward and that Charles doesn’t have to accept because he knows he can be a bit of an ars*hole sometimes, and Charles misses roughly three-fourths of what he actually says because -  _ hold on, did he just say he loved me? _

(So Charles interrupts him mid-monologue, not with a kiss or anything romantic like in a film, but with a surprised ‘what?’. Max glances off to the side then, looking crushed, and Charles realises in a surprising moment of self-awareness that his question borne of disbelief must have sounded like rejection to the already-pessimistic blond. It’s quickly made clear that this is  _ not  _ in any way a rejection when he grabs Max’s face and roughly kisses him.)

_ I'm scared _

_ I've never fallen from quite this high _

_ Falling into your ocean eyes _

_ Those ocean eyes _

Later, after Max and Charles have kissed and talked and kissed some more, they are both sitting on Charles’ bed and laughing together. Max has taken a moment to call Dilara - whom Charles finds out is just a very good friend, only a girlfriend in the eyes of the press - and Charles takes the opportunity to call Charlotte -also a good friend who had agreed to pretend with him- to inform her of the development. It feels so good, so relieving to finally call Max his boyfriend because they don’t have to dance around eachother anymore. Max jokes that Charles looked like the windows error screen after he confessed, and Charles is about to respond when there’s a knock at the door.

(It’s Pierre and Daniel, who are checking up on them just to make sure everything went well and they didn’t screw it up. They join the conversation as well, and the four drivers must have been pretty loud because Carlos eventually pokes his head into the room to say he can hear them from next door. Then he sees Charles and Max sitting on the bed smiling like idiots, and he congratulates them for finally getting themselves together because ‘he has watched them pine for eachother since they were  _ nine _ , god’s sake.’ Then he leaves, chuckling as Charles protests that  _ it wasn’t for that long! _ )

  
  


_ 2022, three years after the 2019 season _

_ Abu Dhabi _

“And for the first time ever, it’s Max Verstappen, number thirty-three, champion of the world!”

Max absently replies to his engineer congratulating him, a wide grin growing on his face as he takes his cooldown lap back to the pits. Toto hops on after a second too, giving him a brief felicitation before presumably turning back to watch Valtteri cross the line as well.

_ I’ve done it. _

_ I’ve done it? _

_ I’ve done it! _

He whoops into his mic suddenly, startling a laugh out of his engineer. A rush of euphoria fills him, not subsiding even as he finishes the lap and hefts himself out of his car - the silver chassis under him still surprises him sometimes, a part of him still expecting to see the familiar blue of his Red Bull. He falls into the arms of Victoria first, his mum embraces him for a quick second while Sandy gives him an affectionate hair-ruffle, and then Dilara is giving him a tight squeeze. Various different pit members are sharing in his happiness as he makes his way across the garage, and Max finds himself feeling an odd mix of being overwhelmed and incredibly euphoric at the same time. He has a minute before the cameras and microphones are shoved in his face, and he just takes a moment to sit down and take a breath.

_ A championship. _

_ It’s really happening. _

Of course Max knows that this doesn’t mean he’s  _ done _ \- he’ll never be done as long as he can still race, because he loves racing with all of his soul and can’t imagine ever voluntarily giving it up - but for now he can let himself sit for a minute and enjoy what he’s worked for. 

His father enters the room, and he sits down next to his son with a small smile on his face. 

“You did good, Max. You should be proud of yourself.” 

And Max feels some emotion (he isn’t really good at classifying anything that isn’t anger) rising up in him, not entirely light but not twisting and frothing either, because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard his father say that to him before. 

They sit there in a comfortable silence, and Max takes a moment to contemplate the role his father has played in his life ever since he first got into karting. He and mum have been there the entire way with him, and even though they’ve had their share of arguments and shouting matches and anger and hurt (he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way that the gas station clerk looked at him when she realised he’d been left behind) but Max knows that he wouldn’t be where he is today without him. His dad in particular had thrown him headfirst into many different situations -some of which he probably shouldn’t have had to experience - but Jos had eventually realised that  _ hey, sometimes you should listen to your kid when he’s screaming at you _ and they’d both tried to improve who they were as people. 

Jos eventually stands up awkwardly, straightening his clothes and looking towards the door.

“I am going to go back out to the garage right now. I think your -erm-  _ boyfriend _ is waiting for you. I’ll call you when it’s time for press.” His father smiles awkwardly at him, and Max feels a swell of satisfaction that Jos is able to call Charles his boyfriend without seeming uncomfortable. His initial reaction had not been the best and it had taken many,  _ many _ conversations and later, much research on Jos’ part for him to understand and accept Max, and that was  _ before _ his father had found out that it was  _ Charles Leclerc _ that Max had decided to pursue. Max will always be grateful to Sandy, both for convincing Jos to do some more looking into the situation and making sure that Max and Jos communicated through the entire ordeal. 

Then the door is squeaking open, and Charles walks into the room.

“Congratulations, mon amour! What a race, what a race!” The Monegasque throws his arms around Max, and they both tumble down onto the couch. “Your first championship, and surely not your last!” Charles beams at Max, and something must have finally registered in the blond’s brain because he can’t stop a stupidly large smile from making its way onto his face.

“Oh my god.  _ Oh my god. _ ” Max turns to face his now slightly confused boyfriend, “Charlie,  _ I just won the championship!” _ Charles laughs in delight as he leans into Max, tightening his hold on the dutchman.

“Yes, you did, mon chou.” Charles smiles down at Max, and he finds himself lost in the other’s eyes for a minute as they gleam in the bright light of his driver-room. A light blush settles on Charles’ face, and he looks away after a minute. 

“Max! Media!” Jos calls from outside, and Charles and Max trade a long-suffering glance before untangling themselves and standing up. Max fixes the knot on his race suit, which is tied around his waist, and he doesn’t miss how Charles’ eyes follow his movement. 

“Later, schat.” Max says, smirking, and Charles blushes again and gives him a light shove. 

“Just go to the Media pen.” He mutters, looking off to the side, and Max feels a slight pang because he doesn’t want Charles to go away, dammit.

“Come with me?” He asks, and from the way Charles looks up at him he’s surprised, but not unhappy. The Ferrari driver nods, and they leave the room and make their way to the media.

(Afterwards, in the privacy of Carlos’ motorhome, and surrounded by their friends, Max hides a plastic ring box inside Charles’ salad. Charles looks at him in disbelief after he finds it, asking if Max was proposing to him, and the Dutchman rolls his eyes before saying that  _ no, I’m proposing to Daniel. _ The Australian in question rolls his eyes before going back to talking softly to Lando and Carlos. _ ) _

(That’s all the confirmation that Charles needs, and he flings himself at Max, nearly upsetting the salad that he’d been eating. He doesn’t notice, though, because Max’s laughter is ringing in his ears and he feels a sense of profound elation that doesn’t diminish even when Max snarkily asks if he can take that as a yes. )

(A year later, there’s a quiet celebration at the Nice Cathedral. Disappointed tourists will sadly turn away when they hear the cathedral is reserved, and passers-by will wonder at what’s going on inside. Unbeknownst to them, the lives of two people inside are changing forever as they stand at the altar.

_ It’s never been just Max, or just Charles. It’s always been Max and Charles, and hopefully it’ll always be Max and Charles.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the story! I wanted to write something to practise my english (because I just shifted from Monaco to the United-States) and someone showed me that it is Lestappen week now. I am sorry if the structuring is not flowing, i am better at french and it is a bit strange in english. Merci beaucoup to my friend (I will put his tag if he wanted it) for reading and fixing it so I can post.
> 
> I will do one every day for this week, or try to.
> 
> Merci à tous!


	2. Chapter Two - And Where One Falls, the Other Stands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is ice. Cold, hard, deceptively powerful. Frigid and unapproachable, a type of unforgiving that makes others wary of approaching. He could be beautiful too, but only from a distance. Everyone around him sees he is of jagged edges, but only he knows of the hidden cracks, deep beneath the surface.
> 
> There’s another, one who is water, cut from the same cloth but less jagged, more approachable. Calm and smooth, peaceful on the surface, with a storm whirling below that few would get to witness.

He is ice. Cold, hard, deceptively powerful. Frigid and unapproachable, a type of unforgiving that makes others wary of approaching. He could be beautiful too, but only from a distance. Everyone around him sees he is of jagged edges, but only he knows of the hidden cracks, deep beneath the surface.

There’s another, one who is water, cut from the same cloth but less jagged, more approachable. Calm and smooth, peaceful on the surface, with a storm whirling below that few would get to witness.

Max had learned to read people from a distance since he was young. He didn’t usually get the opportunity to get close to them, so Max often took to studying people from afar when he had the chance. It was easy to put them into categories, equating their personalities to different objects or ideas, and he found himself beginning to rather enjoy finding these connections.

_ (‘Who’s that, papa?’ _

_ ‘No one, Max. All that should concern you is that he’s competition.’ _

_ ‘Yes sir.’ _

_ Max looked back and saw the other kid sporting an easy smile, going from driver to driver and congratulating them all. He fit with everyone, and didn’t breed any wariness even though Max knew he was one of the best drivers on the track. _

_ Water, he decided. This one was water.) _

He didn’t tell his mother about his observations - he’d figured out by then that his activities were not normal for kids his age, and he didn’t want to see that concerned look reserved for him on her face once again. He didn’t have any friends that were close enough to know his secrets, either. He told Victoria once, a while ago, and she listened to him but didn’t seem to get what he meant. 

_ (‘Maxy, you told me that you gave everyone their own thing, right?’ _

_ ‘Yes, why?’ _

_ ‘Well, what am I? Come on Max, tell me!’ _

_ ‘You...to me, you’re like gravity, Vic.’ _

_ ‘Gravity? That seems so random!’ _

_ ‘It’s because you’re always here for me, and I know you’re always going to be my sister. When everything is going wrong, you’re always there with your support. You’re really important to me, even if I take you for granted sometimes.’ _

_ ‘....I still don’t get what you mean. Anyway, I saw mum put some ice cream into the fridge! I know you’re not allowed to, but they’re not home so let’s get some!’ _

_ ‘Alright, alright, I’m coming.’) _

And he  _ certainly _ didn’t tell his father. He had no idea how the man would react, and this- this was too important to him to lose. 

_ (‘Remember, Max. Focus on your race. Right now, nothing matters. None of the other drivers or what they’re doing matter unless they’re next to you or in front of you.’ _

_ ‘Yes, papa.’ _

_ ‘You look like you have something to say. Out with it.’ _

_ ‘Can...can I stay back and hang out with them this time?’ _

_ ‘No. We’re here to race, not to become friends with the competition. You’re better than them, and you can’t let them forget it. Understood?’) _

He studied the kids he met on track, the kids he met at school, and sometimes even the adults around him. Each of them had their own personalities, their own uniquities that showed themselves to varying degrees.

_ (‘I’m sorry I can’t come, I have a doctor’s appointment!’ _

_ That was the girl who sat in front of him in math, and he’d noticed that she tended to put her hand behind her back when she was lying. He’d seen her scrambling to finish homework then make up an excuse for the teacher enough times to know.  _

_ ‘Oh, that’s fine, we can just try again for next week!’ _

_ That was the kid who sat next to him in geography, and that close-lipped smile meant that he was unhappy with how things had progressed. _

_ Max didn’t mean to overhear, and he really didn’t care about what they were doing, but the other kids talked so loud that it was almost impossible not to. ) _

Now, even as an F1 driver signed for Red Bull, Max still analyses those around him. He still observes the people on track, the people in his ordinary life, and mostly everyone he meets. And even though he gives no f*cks about what other people think anymore, he still overhears conversations from random people on the grid, sometimes about him.

The difference is that now that he has people to talk to, he doesn’t pay nearly as much attention to whatever else is going on.

Daniel is a sunbeam, and Max is reminded of that as he laughs at something that Max had said to him. He brightens up every room just by walking into it, and his best friend manages to keep a positive outlook for mainly everything, cheerful enough for the both of them when Max can’t bring himself to be. A warm personality, speaking of warm summer days at the beach or long bicycle rides taken with Vic and his family in the mild summer temperatures of the Netherlands.

Max also knows that even if Daniel can put a joking spin on a lot of things, make him angry and he will  _ burn _ you. 

The Mclaren driver nudges him, silently asking if he’s alright, and Max shrugs off his concern with a smile. Daniel doesn’t look entirely convinced- Max knows he spaced out for a solid minute there, in the middle of a conversation, but thankfully Lando’s appearance saves him from any further scrutiny.

_ (They are all sitting at lunch today, at the first race weekend of the season. Since Charles and Pierre had come up to F1 a year prior, they - meaning Max, Carlos, Pierre, and Charles (they’d asked Esteban, he just didn’t want to)- had made it a habit to have lunch together atleast once every two race weekends, and Daniel had just inserted himself in the way he always does. Conversation was going smoothly as they waited for Alex to join them, the other three watching amusedly as Daniel and Carlos playfully teased eachother.  _

_ Max actually wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying, as he was too busy admiring Charles’ perfectly messed up hair, and the way his eyes sparked in restrained laughter when someone said something particularly funny. He briefly saw Pierre glance between him and Charles, then roll his eyes in something akin to exasperation before going back to the discussion. _

_ “CarlOOoooOos!” A funny-sounding voice called out, bringing Max out of his musings. He saw Carlos’ face visibly brighten, which - that was quite interesting- before the Spaniard responded in kind. _

_ “Lando! I didn’t know that you were also coming to lunch here!” A group of three, Alex and two others that Max could recognise as the other two rookies this year (George and Lando, were those their names?), stopped next to them. Everyone shifted, making space for the new arrivals at the large table. _

_ “I wasn’t,” Lando said, “but Alex told us that he was going to eat with his old karting mates today and I figured that you would miss my face if I didn’t eat lunch with you.” Carlos shot something back at him, and soon they had started up their own small debate on that side of the table. Max couldn’t stop a small look of surprise. Even when they were kids, Carlos had always been friendly but professional around track with the other drivers, and it had taken the others a while to reach under the press facade and see the person underneath. Lando had apparently managed to do that in a few short weeks. _

_ ‘Air,’ he thought, the word popping into his mind in bright neon letters, ‘Air.’ _

_ And he would learn even more so, as he got closer to the younger, that Lando was air. He was mischievous and light, pushing people into new horizons and opening them up in different ways, making past their defenses with the speed and flexibility of a small air current. Max remembered seeing him drive in F2, his strategy and his driving style changing with the situation as he adapted to what was happening on track. ) _

“Mate, is Alex still not here?” Lando asks, looking around for the Red Bull driver. Finding his quest unsuccessful, he groans in annoyance and leans back against the motorhome they are waiting by.

“Have some patience, Lando. Kids these days.” Daniel says, good-naturedly shaking his head. Max smirks, settling against the motorhome as well and checking his cell phone after a minute to see if Alex has texted him anything.

“I’m not a kid! And it’s like twenty minutes after the agreed meeting time. Where is he?!”

Daniel shrugs, seemingly noncommittally, but from the smile on his face Max can tell that a debate is about to start up..

“I’m one of the eldest drivers on track. You’re all kids to me.”

“And you didn’t get here until a minute ago, either.” Max points out, fully reveling in the chaos that is to occur, and this sparks another discussion between the three about the validity of Lando’s tardiness (‘I got here fifteen minutes after the time, that’s not  _ that _ bad!’) and how it compares to Alex’s (‘well, what makes twenty minutes so bad, then?’)

The discussion fades as Alex joins them with a quick apology, his calming presence at Max’s side reminding the dutchman of the Earth, just as he always did.

Alex is solid and caring in his quiet way, a calm, serious presence of someone who can be trusted to keep their head even when everything goes wrong. At the same time, sometimes those peaceful plains are broken up by rolling hills of laughter or small streams of determination, caverns of annoyance or fjords of disappointment.

They walk to their next stop, Lando diverting from them to go get George as the others make their way to the Ferrari motorhome. Pierre has said he will meet them there, since he will be with Charles anyway and the Toro Rosso -Alpha Tuari, but it’s been two years and Max still can’t get that name to stick in his head- Garage is in the other direction. 

Carlos is stepping out of his motorhome as they approach him, and he gives them a tight-looking smile that makes him look older than his twenty-six years as they approach.

Max has always equated Carlos to fire; bright and passionate, burning sometimes too bright and too fast. He is friendly or inviting, radiating a warmth like a small campfire with rarely-emerging sparks of a playful nature, a brilliant blaze on some days and mere embers on others. Above all, he’s resilient with a will to succeed that rages like a fire, not unlike the one that Max knows is mirrored in himself. 

Max has seen how Carlos has gotten increasingly frustrated with Ferrari’s lack of success, but the Dutchman suspects that no one outside people close to Carlos know that, because the other is exceptionally good at putting on a media face. He’s a good driver, Max reflects, and it’s a shame that both the car and the strategy are subpar.

(He ignores the thought that Charles’ potential is also wasting away on that team, his true aptitude never shown due to the lawnmower he’s been given to drive.)

“CarloooOOOoos!”

Lando and George have arrived, and Carlos’ face lights up as he sees his former teammate. Alex gives George a short hug, and they fall into an easy chatter as they wait for the last two members to arrive. 

Max reflects that Lando and Carlos fit together quite well; Lando simultaneously tempers and encourages Carlos’ flame, showing a side of him that the public had never really seen. Carlos, conversely, calms Lando’s storm, giving him an edge of maturity and keeping him down to Earth with the reality of the situation.

Max sees movement out of his periphery. Daniel is checking his watch, frowning down at the small clock face from time to time.

“Why are you so antsy?” Max asks him after the fifth time, “We have plenty of time for lunch.”

Daniel frowns in the direction of Charles’ room again, and Max feels concern start to writhe uncomfortably in his stomach.

“Charles and Pierre usually aren’t this late.” Is all the Australian says, and Max feels his worry increase as he realises that Daniel is right. The others have caught on to the newfound tension in the air, and they’re looking at the two drivers. The statement rings in the air, and Max is about to suggest that they knock on Charles’ door when Pierre emerges. 

“Hello. I’m sorry I’m late.” He says, turning back to the concerned group after shutting the door.

“Where’s Charles?” Max asks before anyone can say anything, his desperation written through his words. Pierre looked at him, something unreadable in his eyes.

Max had always been able to read people, so it slightly scares him when he has  _ no _ idea what that look means. 

“He’s still inside. He said he wants to talk to you.” Pierre says after a moment, and Max has a suspicion that Pierre knows what Charles is going to say, and Max is feeling anxious because he  _ doesn’t. _

_ What’s he going to say? _

_ Did I do something to make him angry? _

_ I thought we were good, I don’t remember anything happening lately! _

A hundred thoughts flit through Max’s head, his heartbeat starting to echo in his ears as he processes the words. 

_ What if he is going to tell me he hates me? _

Max doesn’t know what he’d do if that happened. Charles is the water to his ice, smoothly free-flowing and ever-changing to fit the situation. Humble and unassuming on the surface, but with a furious, roaring strength resting under the calm exterior. Working in small ways, making his way into the ice’s cracks and working away at it until it gradually melts. Charles can make him feel like they’re just two normal people, not world-famous stars with a world of expectation on his shoulders. He can melt away his worries about everyone else and remind him why he loves racing in the first place.

Max can’t lose Charles. He  _ can’t. _ Not again.

“Max?” Daniel asks after a second, and the Red Bull driver slowly meets the other’s gaze. Everyone is silent, the air tense and nervous. 

“You guys go ahead and start eating.” He says, hearing his words as if through a pair of thick headphones, “I’ll see what Charlie wants and we’ll join you.”

Daniel and Lando both look unsure, before the Australian nods uncomfortably with an ‘if you’re sure.’ The two of them, along with a concerned Alex and a nervous-looking George, turn away and head for the parking lot.

“ I can wait behind.” Carlos proposes, and Max is torn for a minute before he shakes his head again. The Spaniard leaves to catch up to the others, and Pierre tells him to ‘be good to him’ before he, too, turns away and jogs to the group.

Max takes a breath and turns to the suddenly imposing door, trying to calm himself down so he can atleast appear composed before he walks in. Then he pushes open the door and strides into the room. 

“Charlie?” He calls into the seemingly empty room. It’s strange that it’s empty, because if Charles had something to say he would have waited by the door, right? 

A part of Max suggests that perhaps Charles changed his mind at the last second and doesn’t even want to  _ talk _ to him anymore, but he viciously shoves that thought down.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Charles pops up from behind the bed, startling Max slightly. He’s fidgeting in discomfort, and Max feels his heart jump up into his throat. 

_ He’s going to tell me he hates me. He’s going to, I know it! _

“Look, I don’t even know what I did, but whatever it is, I’m sorry.” Max speaks before he loses his nerve, and Charles pauses for a moment. Max thinks for a moment that Charles isn’t willing to even listen to him. 

_ No, that’s not right. _

_ Charles looks...confused? _

And he did indeed look confused, because has stopped and was staring, perplexed, at Max.

“What did Pierre tell you?!” He finally asks, and Max’s eyebrows furrow as he realises that Charles has no idea what he’s talking about.

“He just told me that you wanted to talk to me.” Max said, and Charles’ eyebrows raised in surprise.

“He told you that I wanted to talk to you and your first thought is that I’m angry at you? Max, one of the drivers known for not at all caring what anyone else thinks?” 

Max takes a moment to respond, looking over at the ground.

“You...you’re just important to me, Charlie.”

There’s silence again, and Max feels his gut twist. Now even if Charles wasn’t angry at him, he’d think he was strange or something. He turns to leave, taking Charles’ silence as a negative response. 

“Wait!” Charles finally says, causing Max to freeze in his tracks. “I…..you’re important to me too, Max!” The Monegasque is blushing as he completes his statement, but his eyes are locked with Max’s and he knows that Charles is serious. “Actually, I’ve cared for you a lot ever since we were little. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same though, but I’d hope we can still be friends.”

It’s now Max’s turn to be confused, furrowing his brows in puzzlement. Then it hits him, not unlike Esteban’s car had in last week’s race.

_ Oh. OH. _

“I think I would prefer if we were more than friends.”

And as Charles smiles at him, he knows that he won’t ever be alone again.

They are water and ice, cut from the same cloth, yet just different enough to be perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde! 
> 
> Or maybe I should be saying Bonsoir, because this is being posted this late at night. I am so sorry that it is very into the night, but I was not happy with this chapter as I first went to write it and was writing it again and again. I am still not fully happy but I hope that it does not disappoint. I am not really sure about writing Max, and I was trying to focus on the skill of description and symbols this chapter, I am sorry if it seems broken.
> 
> Thank you again to @Did_I_SEND_IT who is my friend I mentioned last chapter, for waking and reading this early in morning for you so I can still post it today.
> 
> Thank you also for all the great comments last chapter! I was not expectful of such a quick or positive responding community, and I was happily surprised when I saw all of the kind things people were saying!
> 
> More tomorrow, of course!
> 
> Merci à tous!


	3. Please Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really important, please read. Not a chapter

Hello everyone, @Did_I_SEND_IT (Myst's editor) here. I regret to inform you that Myst (@What_is_Delatraz_doing) found out this morning that someone back at her home in Monaco has COVID. She told me that she has no plans to abandon this Lestappen week, and she's going to finish all seven stories. 

I ask you, please just give her a few days and be patient with her if she doesn't follow the upload schedule. She's going through a rough patch, and I think it would really help her to not have to worry about writing something every day. 

Thank you all so much, and please stay safe. 

-Editor


	4. The Trials and Tribulations of Baking A Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles and Pierre help Max bake a cake.

Charles and Pierre are playing video games, taking a break after finishing their Uni papers, when Pierre’s phone starts to ring. The frenchman reaches over from the couch they are both sprawled on, and puts it on speaker. 

“Do you know how to make an Opera Cake?!” Max’s voice accosts them over the speaker, and Pierre startles slightly due to the volume.

“Max-” He starts, but Max cuts him off, sounding increasingly panicked. 

“Yes or no question, mate! I need to know if I need to start looking up recipes or not!”

“I know how to make an Opera Cake! It’s mum’s favourite dessert!” Charles excitedly says, nearly leaping over Pierre to get to the phone. The frenchman sends him a glare, but he’s too focused on the conversation to notice. 

“Wha- _ Charlie _ ? Lando, I thought you were with Carlos?” The Dutchman’s voice jumps on Charles’ name, his tone leaking a strange mix of panic and confusion. 

“You didn’t call Lando.” Pierre answers flatly, finally shoving Charles off of him. The other lands on the floor with an ‘oof’ and looks up, betrayed, at Pierre.

“Sorry Pierre, didn’t mean to do that.” Max says, sounding wholly unapologetic, "bye then. "

“Wait, you needed help, right? We can be there in fifteen minutes!” And Pierre is  _ definitely _ glaring at Charles now, because what do you mean ‘we’, he didn’t sign up for this. 

Besides, if he was going to be the only one there to which the mutual pining would be painfully obvious, he’d rather stay home, and finish the million other things he had to do, thank you very much.

But Charles is giving him that  _ look _ , and he can’t very well strand his friend with the human disaster that is a panicked Max in the kitchen, can he?

“Fine. We’ll be there in  _ twenty _ minutes, so that we can get the supplies we need.” He groans, and Charles beams at him, pumping his fist in victory. A small ‘thanks’ sounds from Max’s end of the line before the connection cuts.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you Pierre!” And Charles races out of the room, probably to get himself ready to go to Max’s dorm. 

“You owe me!” Pierre yells after him, before exhaustedly collapsing on the couch. He’s already regretting this, because nothing except for chaos occurs when Charles and Max are in a vicinity together.

Although Max can bake fairly well, he’s not the most focused when he’s stressed, and is famous for setting off the smoke alarm  _ multiple times _ when tensed and in a kitchen. Charles usually isn’t too bad himself, but his friend is almost definitely going to be distracted because of who he is baking with. That leaves Pierre, who can barely cook. 

_ This is going to be an absolute disaster. _

  
  


_ This is an absolute disaster _ , Charles thinks as he stands outside Max's room with Pierre. He’s nervous, because he’s just realised that his shirt doesn’t match the bandanna he’s got on his head, and  _ silly Charles, you know that different shades don’t match, _ and Max will probably look like a snack himself in whatever baking outfit he’s got on-

“Stop worrying, you look fine. Also I already texted him saying we’re here, so we can’t back out now.” Pierre breaks into his internal monologue, and Charles is so used to his best friend seemingly reading his mind that he doesn’t even question how he knows what Charles is thinking.

“But these two shades of red don’t even  _ go together! _ What if I make a bad impression?” Charles squeaks out in return, and Pierre gives him the most unimpressed look he thinks he’s ever seen. 

“You’ve already made an impression on him. We’ve known him since we were  _ nine _ , mon frangin. I doubt that he notices the difference between what you wear here and what you wear at those high-society galas that we went to as kids.” Pierre is probably right, Charles really shouldn’t be worrying nearly as much as he is, because nothing could be worse than how much he and Max hated eachother as teenagers. Thinking back on it, he briefly wonders what happened; he and Max were close as kids, and they even had their own little squad with a few of the other children, but then the dutchman started acting all high and mighty, and things quickly spiraled out of control. But it’s good now. They’re close again, and it’s all fine.

Anyway.

“That’s high society, and by the time we were old enough to care about what to wear, we were rivals!” Charles protests, “You’re not supposed to pay attention to your rivals at those galas!”

“Yes, it’s not like all Anthoine and I heard from you during that time was ‘Max this’ and ‘Max that’ or anything. And you definitely didn’t spend a year moping when Max stopped showing up to them.” Pierre mutters, and Charles has to defend his honour, because that is untrue and Pierre  _ knows it. _ Charles didn’t  _ mope _ for a year, much less over Max Verstappen _. _ Charles Leclerc  _ does not mope in general, thank you very much. _

He opens his mouth, but then the lock is clicking and the door is swinging open, and Charles quickly hides to block the deer-in-headlights look that he’s sure is on his face.

“Oh good, you two are here. Let’s go to the kitchen.” Charles deems it safe to look up as Max turns around, and gets hit in the face with the fact that Max very much looks like a snack in that stupid apron that Daniel had gotten him for his birthday.

Pierre grabs his shoulder and steers him into Max’s flat, and into the kitchen, where Max is facing them with an expectant look. 

It takes Charles a solid minute, but he remembers why they’re in Max's room in the first place. 

“Right, opera cake!” Charles says, and Pierre takes that as a reason to start setting out the supplies they’ve brought for the pastry. Max comes to lean across from him on the kitchen counter, and he’s fixed with the full focus of that icy gaze. “So we brought some almonds and coffee syrup because we thought you might not have them,” Max nods appreciatively at this, so Charles takes that to mean that he’s right, “and some stuff to make the buttercream.”

The initial worry wears off as Charles continues giving directions and they prepare the cake, the three of them settling into a familiar groove of banter and laughter as the elements that need to be chilled - the ganache and the buttercream- get closer to completion. Max seems to relax a little bit, his earlier tension dissipating as he works on whipping the buttercream, exchanging dialogue with Pierre all the while, and Charles softly smiles at his long-time friends. Max doesn’t get stressed easily, so the monegasque always finds himself worrying a bit more when it does happen. 

Then Charles opens the fridge to put in the ganache he’s just finished, and is greeted with the sight of a variety of desserts lining the shelves before him.

“Mon  _ Dieu, _ Max! Why do you need thirty different types of pastries?!” Pierre peeks around the fridge door to see what Charles is talking about, and from the surprised intake of breath Charles can confirm that Pierre is just as astonished as he is. 

“It’s a long story.” Max says, sounding slightly embarrassed, “but I’m baking every kid’s favourite desserts to celebrate their last year of one of the secondary schools in Leeuwarden’s poor districts.”

Charles blinks.

That did not clear anything up, and Max seems to realise this from the confused expressions that both Charles and Pierre are giving him. He sighs, looking slightly uncomfortable, and Charles suddenly realises how much of  _ not his business _ this is. Even if he  _ is _ curious. 

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to!” He rushes to reassure the Dutchman, and Pierre nods from beside him. Max briefly meets Charles’ gaze, searching his soul, and he must find something atleast mildly reassuring because he gives Charles a tight smile and flicks his eyes back downwards after a second. 

“No, no. Dan’s been saying I should tell someone, anyway. And I trust you two.” 

Charles blinked again. The admittance, one of  _ trust _ , was wholly unexpected, especially from Max. While the Dutchman was not as rough as he was often portrayed, he wasn’t exactly one for feelings and admittances like  _ that. _

A small part of his brain wonders bitterly what  _ Daniel _ had to do with this entire affair that clearly meant a lot to Max, and why the Australian who had seemingly just suddenly shown up as Max’s friend knew about it before Charles did. 

He shoves that back into its corner, because there was no reason for Charles to be sour (not jealous, never jealous), especially when Daniel and Max were so platonic it  _ hurt _ . This is also clearly important to Max, and Charles should be focused on  _ that _ , damnit.

“Why don’t you tell us while we wait for the cake to bake?” Pierre suggests after a minute, and Charles wonders how the clearly brilliant Frenchman wound up with the walking disaster that was Charles. 

Max seems to think it’s a good idea, too, because he nods and looks to Charles for the next instructions. Charles distantly rattles off the next five things to do, and they set to work. 

It’s at the back of his mind, whatever it is that Max has to tell them, even as he throws some flour back at Pierre for the other’s earlier water-based assault. It lands on Max instead, and the blond does not waste any time in flicking some milk at Charles. The monegasque shrieks, darting behind Pierre, who scoffs as being used as a shield from Max. 

It’s at the back of his mind, even as he laughs with Max at Pierre’s failed attempt to get revenge via vanilla extract.

Then it’s not at the back of his mind, because they’ve put the cake into the oven, and Charles can feel the shift in the atmosphere as they all move to a couch in the living room and wait for Max to start.

“So…” He finally says, “ I’m not sure if you guys noticed, but there was a solid year in which I kind of disappeared off the face of the planet.”

The start leaves an awkward feeling in the air, and Charles worries for a minute that Max really doesn’t want to tell them and feels pressured. He feels afraid to move, to breathe, because the entire situation feels precarious in a way he can’t even begin to understand. Pierre looks equally unsure beside him, and the moment of anxiety stretches into eons as none of them  _ do  _ anything. Charles feels like he’s suffocating, the air replaced with an invisible stress that’s pressing down on his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

“Charles certainly did.” Pierre suddenly quips, and it effectively diffuses the tension, atleast for a moment. The Monegasque blushes and whacks his friend on the arm as he registers what Pierre had said. When he meets his eyes, though, Charles hopes they reflect his gratitude. Pierre grins back at him, and he knows his thanks is received. Max chuckles roughly at the interaction, and Charles feels a smile coming to rest on his own face.

_ He can breathe. _

Then Max stills, and the other two go silent, sensing that he is about to say more.Charles has to make himself take a breath, worry and some strange form of anxiety warring in his chest. Max’s eyes lock with Charles’, looking for a silent support that Charles isn’t sure he can give. Regardless, the younger pushes down his turmoil, because Max needs him and he’s not about to let him down, and smiles at the Dutchman.

Max takes a breath, and Charles uses this opportunity to get his focus back on the topic of conversation, to quell the thing urging him closer to panic.

Another breath, Charles’ inhale in tandem with Max’s this time.

And then Max is talking, speaking timidly about his family and his childhood. This part Charles knows- Max’s dad was the heir to a large engineering conglomerate in the Netherlands, and his mum was the heir to a influential -albeit smaller- Belgian textiles company. He also knows that Max spent a lot of time with his dad, because Jos wanted him to take over the company some day, and that Jos’ methods could be a little  _ harsh _ at times. Charles knows - everyone knows- that Max does actually love engineering, regardless of his father’s constant pressure for him to excel in that field.

Everyone also knows, although it’s never talked about, that Jos has made Max’s entire life a long training session so that Max could do what he never did; bringing the company to new heights. Charles has never really felt that pressure from his own family - he thinks that Lorenzo hadn’t, either- because his parents had always planned for their three kids to run their banking firm together. Even then, he and his brothers were also free (encouraged, even) to explore their own interests. When Arthur had mentioned that he wanted to exit from the world of banking and pursue Karting and racing instead, his parents had wholeheartedly supported his younger brother. He has a feeling that Max’s dad wouldn’t react the same.

It isn’t the first time that Charles realises that Max’s fate had been decided since he was born, but it still shocks him every time he undergoes this revelation.

“I know that my father wanted me to go into something more on the robotics part of engineering, as that’s what our company deals with, but I realised about halfway through primary school that I preferred something else. Vic had also told me some of her ideas, and it was pretty clear even as a kid that she was really invested in the type of engineering and manufacturing that dad’s company specialises in- and I would have gladly let her inherit the company, because she had (and still has) more of a vision for it than I ever did. So I walked up to him sometime in my first year of secondary, worked up some courage, and told him to his face that I wanted to be an engineer for a Formula One car.”

Charles blinks again. This time it’s out of shock; both that Max has apparently wanted to be in Formula One for a long time, and that he walked up to his father and told him this. From the way that he flinched as he said it, and from Charles’ own experiences with the elder Verstappen, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Max’s father reacted  _ brilliantly _ . 

Pierre mutters a soft curse from next to him, and Charles can conclude that Pierre has come to the same conclusion he has. 

“Yeah,” Max chuckles, almost bitterly, flicking his eyes up to the other two, “He didn’t take it too well. Kept a closer eye on me than usual, and made sure that everything in my life was about the company. No friends that could be ‘distractions’, especially in high society. The company was my future, and it was all that mattered. Since mum was in Belgium most of the time, and Vic was with her, there wasn’t really anyone to tell me otherwise, so I think I started to believe him.”

Max’s gaze has dropped back down to his hands while he talks, his voice growing quieter and quieter. He glances up nervously from time to time, as if judging how Charles and Pierre are reacting to what he’s telling them- and then Charles realises that’s  _ exactly what he’s doing. _

It feels so  _ wrong _ \- this is Max ‘gives-no-f*cks’ Verstappen, and he’s not supposed to be  _ afraid _ of talking, much less to Charles. His heart hurts to think that his being here is actively causing Max stress, especially when this is supposed to be about allowing the blond to get things off his chest.

Charles finds himself automatically moving to place a reassuring hand over Max’s, even as he considers that Max may not find the same comfort in contact that Charles does. The other turns to him, surprise written all over his face, and Charles forces himself not to move his hand even as his heart jumps into his throat. Charles sees Pierre still out of the corner of his eye, and the expression on his face becomes unreadable.

Then Max grins at him, weakly, and he takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“I had an argument with him one day. It had grown too suffocating, and I didn’t understand why I had to give up my dreams, because if this was about the company succession, there was a person fully capable and willing to take that position. I told him, in anger, that I was planning on giving Vic the company anyway, and father was  _ livid _ . He kicked me out of the house, and told me not to come back before I had ‘gained an appreciation for everything he has put into my life’. Locked the door behind me and everything.”

Pierre and Charles exchange a glance. Charles can’t even imagine either of his parents doing that to him, no matter  _ what _ he did. He remembers angrily storming out as a kid sometimes, but he never went farther than the nearby park and eventually Pierre or one of his brothers would come and take him back to the house after he’d cooled down a bit. Max curls in on himself a bit, and Charles gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Max gives one back after a minute, and gives Charles a little half-smile of thanks. Charles smiles back, trying not to expose how shaken he’s feeling. 

“I was angry at him too, and also an irrational seventeen-year-old, and so I did something stupid in retaliation. I snuck back into my room that night, grabbed my passport, a bunch of money, and some clothes- oh, and a picture- and crossed the Dutch border.”

“Emily, You always do stupid stuff. You being a teenager had nothing to do with it.” A new voice jokes, and Charles jumps a metre in the air before turning to see one grinning Daniel Ricciardo. He seems to lighten the room just by walking into it, and Charles really is glad to see Max’s mood lift too.

He could have done without the almost heart attack, though. He’ll have to get Daniel back for that later.

“Emily?” Pierre snickers, and Max goes slightly red. That doesn’t make sense in Charles’ head (how does Max become  _ Emily? _ ) before he realises that  _ Of course, his middle name is Emilian, why didn’t I think of that? _

“Oh, and whatever you’re baking smells really good.” Daniel says, over Max’s sputtering of ‘don’t call me that!’ Pierre’s eyes widen, and he takes a glance at his watch.

“The cake!” He yelps, jumping out of his chair and dashing into the kitchen. Charles is up behind him, watching as he carefully inserts a fork into the centre of the cake. It comes out clean, and he and Max watch with bated breath as Pierre fumbles through getting it out of the oven.

“Why are you the one doing this?” Charles nervously squeaks out, watching as Pierre’s cloth- and the baking pan- nearly slip from his grasp.

“You tell me!” His friend replies, “I am the one here least experienced with ovens!”

Daniel laughs from behind them, leaning against the doorway. Pierre exhales in relief as he puts the cake down on the kitchen worktop, carefully backing away as if sudden movements would make it slide off the worktop by itself. Charles shuts the oven door with his foot, turning off the heat and turning to find three people looking at him.

_ Why are you all looking at me?! _

“What do we do next, Charlie?” Max asks, saving Charles from making a fool out of himself. Charles blushes lightly in embarrassment anyway, bringing a raised eyebrow from Daniel. Pierre’s grin shows that he knows that Charles had forgotten that he was leading them for a minute, and that Charles was definitely going to have to endure teasing about that later.

“I, euh, think it needs to be cooled for a little bit before we can put the other things on.” Charles stutters out, “We should just leave it here for some time.”

  
  


Max coughs awkwardly into his hand. The minutes after Charles’ instruction had been filled with silence, all of them being hit by what they’d paused when Daniel had entered, and what they should probably get back to doing now that the cake was safely out of the oven and on the counter to cool.

Max knew they were probably waiting for him to make the first move, to make a signal to go back to the other room and continue the conversation, but he felt like he’d lost a bit of his nerve and had resorted to stalling in the silence. 

_ It’s embarrassing enough, that he’d run away over a disagreement, but with every word he can remember the angry shouts, and hands that had left painful trails in their wake, and the fear of being on his own in an unfamiliar place, and the feeling of not going back home because he knew that the only thing waiting for him was scoldings and pain, and the soul-sucking emptiness of pursuing someone else’s dream- _

“Max, are you alright to keep telling us? You can continue later if you want.” Charles breaks into his train of thought, worry (that Max hates to think that he is the cause of) flaring in his eyes. Pierre nods from behind the monegasque, and Max genuinely doesn’t know what to do. It would be so easy to take the way out, and then not ever get back to the subject and pretend that the incident never happened.

He turns to Daniel, who is leaning on the doorframe behind him. Max’s eyes silently ask what to do, but the other just regards him with an equal silence. The Australian is uncharacteristically serious, and Max takes this to mean that he has to figure this out for himself.

Then Charles’ hand is on top of his again, and he looks up into warm green eyes. He finds himself relaxing, a little reassured by the visible support the other is giving him.

_ Charles has always been able to calm him, has always believed in him when no one else did, and even when that vibrant gaze is sparking with anger, Max still finds it comforting.  _

Charles has always seen  _ him _ . Not Max Verstappen, prodigy who was going to bring the company to new heights and the next rising star in the engineering industry. Not as the ars*hole son of the man wrapped in scandals and allegations, but as  _ Max. _

Just Max.

And Max will always be grateful for that. 

“No, no. Let’s go to the other room.” Max finally says, tearing his gaze away from Charles and following Daniel out to the couch. He doesn’t realise that he’s tightening his hand in Charles’ until the monegasque’s hand shifts in his. He looks down briefly to see his own white-knuckled grip, one that was sure to leave bruises on Charles’ graceful hands.

_ These hands weren’t supposed to bruise anything, to hurt anything, if they do they are no better than his- _

Max drops Charles’ hand like it has burned him, his downward-focused eyes failing to notice the hurt and concern mixing in the other’s expression. His hand feels cold, and he misses the contact, but he’s not going to reach out and run the risk of hurting someone. Not again. Never again.

_ Stop being dramatic, Max. It was just a small hand-holding. _

“Right, so.” Daniel starts, settling comfortably down on the couch, “You crossed the Dutch border.”

“Yes.” Max replies after a minute, sitting tensely down next to Daniel. His hands fidget with eachother in his lap, too anxious to fall still. Pierre and Charles don’t seem to be incredulous towards his tale so far, hadn’t said that he was overreacting, or laughed at his past choices, which was really more than Max had hoped for. 

Of course, Daniel had predicted that they wouldn’t invalidate Max during that one conversation oh-so-long ago, but Daniel tends to believe the best of everyone anyways.

“I hid out by one of the smaller border towns for a day and a half, and then started to go north. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was heading, and I was just buying what I needed on the way.” In retrospect, Max had been horribly unprepared for whatever he thought he was going to do in Holland; he hadn’t even brought any sort of a map or a phone charger. Or extra food. Or water. “It went that way for a few some time, and I eventually ended up in one of the cities near Rotterdam. I think it was then that my anger had faded enough for me to realise what a  _ monumentally stupid _ desicion I had just made.”

He still remembers the dawning horror of being in a country that felt like home but legally wasn’t, knowing that he was still a minor in the eyes of the law, and not even knowing if he’d done something illegal in crossing the border without a guardian’s consent-

The world had felt too big, the usually wondrous blue of the skies endless and engulfing, suffocating. The strangers on the street were menacing, regarding him with suspicion, analysing his every move for something to prove that he wasn’t supposed to be here, just waiting for someone to recognise him and take him back to his father-

Oh.

_ Oh no, _ he’d realised,  _ father is going to be furious. _ It had been three days at that point- long enough for a missing warrant to go up, long enough for Jos to realise that something was wrong and that his model son had run away.

Long enough for another scandal to make it to the papers.

Max can feel the familiar panic rising up in him, even as he struggles to keep himself on the couch surrounded by friends instead of on that street, surrounded by faceless unknowns. His breaths start to stutter in his chest, hopefully unnoticeably, but Max can’t tell because everything feels muted and it’s almost like he’s watching the scene from far-off, rather than sitting through it. 

And then Charles  _ leans his head on Max’s shoulder, _ and the dutchman is slammed back into himself. The younger looks up through his eyelashes, and Max is suddenly reminded that this man has a side job as an Armani model. 

He swallows, hard. 

Half of his mind is still focused on what’s going on -what he’s supposed to be telling them- but the other half is essentially doing that stupid eyebrow thing and nudging him saying that ‘Charles sure looks cute, eh?’.

He tears his eyes away from the head on his shoulder, and he definitely catches the surprised look that Pierre and Daniel trade from his non-reaction, or perhaps the fact that Charles was bold enough to make such a move in the first place. 

“So anyway,” He continues, before either of them can remark on it, “I was alone, panicking in some random part of Rotterdam, and I was afraid to go home to face my father after running away and probably destroying his reputation.” 

Max sees how Daniel’s expression tightens at the mention of his father’s fury. It wasn’t any sort of secret that his Australian friend did not particularly like Jos, and he can still remember Daniel’s face when they had first truly talked about how he’d ended up in Leeuwarden. Pierre’s expression is hard to discern, and Max finds a nervousness returning, writing in the pits of his stomach. He’s known Pierre since they were children, and they have always gotten along fairly well, but he can’t say that there’s any sort of strong bond to withstand the test of judgement between them. 

He doesn’t want Pierre to dislike him, he realises, and he’s terrified that he can’t read him like he reads Charles or Daniel. He doesn’t know how Pierre will react - and Max would like to stay friends with Pierre, because he’s actually quite enjoyable to be around. In addition, a lot of the people he knows value the Frenchman’s opinion, most of all Charles, and rationally he knows that Pierre won’t tear down Max’s reputation even if he doesn’t like him, but it’s happened so many times that he  _ doesn’t even want to risk it- _

He takes a deep breath, focusing on the points of contact he can feel; the ground, firm against his feet, that one broken drawer from the midtable that is currently stabbing his shin like it always does, the soft seat of the couch against his back and down to his thighs, one of his hands resting on the small wooden sidetable, and the other still resting in his lap, and then the blazing line where Charles is pressed against his side. 

“And so I panicked a bit and decided to go somewhere he probably wouldn’t think to look for me; Leeuwarden, particularly one of the poorer districts.”

Max’s eyes flick down, remembering his first experiences in the northern city. It had been a rough transition, because Max’s clothes didn’t really match the rest of the kids there, and he was pretty clearly an outsider. Although he was no stranger to taking care of himself- the hotels around his house had become his second homes whenever his father would throw him out- he’d never been alone in an area quite so unsafe before. 

He explains all this to Charles and Pierre, not daring to look up to their faces. Charles’ hand gradually sneaks under his, giving it a comforting squeeze as Max winces due to a remembrance of getting cornered and nearly beaten up in the first week. He’s explaining how he decided to find a school that had a consistently changing student roster to finish out his last year of secondary, and then to figure out where to go from there, and sees Charles’ eyebrows raise in his periphery.

_ Here it comes, the accusations of lying and ‘oh, that’s ridiculous’, and calling the story a badly-written fiction- _

  
  


When Pierre agreed to accompany Charles to Max’s dorm, he did not expect to be sitting on the couch and unravelling the mystery behind Max’s sudden disappearance. It is a lot to take in, and Pierre feels like his brain is still trying to process everything that the dutchman has told them. 

And then there’s the million other unsaid things in the air, like the way that Daniel’s fists keep clenching and unclenching on his lap at every mention of Jos, and how Max has been physically drawing himself inwards the longer this conversation has gone on, not to mention whatever it is Charles is trying to tell him through various different looks.

“Is this the school you’re making cakes for?” Charles gently asks and Pierre turns his gaze to Max as well. The blond still hasn’t met their eyes, gaze firmly fixed on the ground. Daniel is tense beside Max, the usually-easygoing aussie’s demeanour mirroring the uncomfortable rolling that Pierre feels in his stomach. 

He has just been given a metric tonne of new information about the depth of what it was like for Max as a child, and he’s not entirely sure how to deal with it. Certainly, they’d all known that Jos Verstappen was not the nicest man, but knowing that he has locked Max out of the house  _ multiple times, _ and went so far as to break Max’s pre-existing friendships in order to ‘minimise distractions’ certainly does not paint a good image. 

“Yes.” Max replies, and Pierre sees Charles shift to take Max’s hand in a tight grip. “I was there for a little over a year, and some of the things that the kids there experienced - I think that they atleast deserve to look forward to a cake celebrating surviving school to convince them to make it to last year.”

Silence drips through the air, and there’s a mood of unsureness, because they’ve technically gotten the answer to why so many pastries were baked. It’s certainly not the end of the story, though, and Max must decide whether to continue or leave it off there.

( _ The uncomfortable feeling won’t go away, there are so many things wrong about this entire situation-) _

Then Daniel rises, looking down towards the startled Frenchman.

“Pierre, come in and help me with something in the kitchen, will you?” 

Said brunet trades a confused look with his best friend, before mutely rising and following the elder into the kitchen. He slides into a stool at the worktop island, watching Daniel slightly warily as the elder learns heavily on the marble.

“Listen,” He says heavily, age visible on his face for the first time since Pierre has met him, “There’s a bit more to Max and his father than what he’s probably told you.”

“I gathered.” Is all Pierre can say. Daniel regards him for a moment -seeing the elder this serious, without his trademark smile on his face, is more unnerving then it seems it would be.

“Have I told you about how Max and I met?” Daniel finally says, after a few anxious moments. There’s something in his tone that Pierre can’t quite identify, and he feels like he's being analysed, dissected for his reaction and his thoughts. 

“No?” He finally responds, and Daniel pulls up another stool. 

“You know that I am a teacher, right?” Pierre nods. He knows of Daniel’s profession as a professor at one of the nearby secondary schools in physics or chemistry or something of that sort. “I was actually shadowing a teacher in the school Max picked, and he was in the advanced physics class that I was sort-of-teaching.”

_ Ah, so this is how Daniel plays into this. _

Ever since Max mentioned Daniel’s input as a reason for telling them (and even more so when Daniel walked in and seemed to know what Max was talking about) Pierre had been wondering how the Australian factors into this entire story.

(He had also seen a brief flash of jealousy on Charles’ face when Daniel had been brought up, and has filed that away as future teasing material.)

“I like to think I was pretty well-liked by the kids, but a lot of them were still pretty guarded and wary.” Daniel continues, “but Max caught my attention pretty early on. Don’t tell him I said this, but his Dutch really stood out up north because of the strange southern accent. Also, it was a pretty small school and the kids were all pretty tight with eachother, but I never saw Max with any of the others. It-” He paused, looking conflicted for a moment, “It’s dangerous to be alone when you’re somewhere like the bad areas. Strength in numbers and who you’re friends with and all that.”

Pierre feels a flash of surprise. He has never been in a situation like the one Max had just described, but what Daniel is saying about alliances and connections sounds astoundingly similar to what happens in high society. The only difference seems to be that the high society has shrouded itself in a veil of glamour and etiquette, so the people looking in from outside don’t often see the drama and backstabbing that routinely takes place.

If Daniel sees Pierre’s revelation, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he continues to explain how he had convinced some kids to lay off Max, and then fell to talking with him, and eventually realised that Max had not a clue what he was doing. He mentions that  _ Jos _ (with disgust dripping off the name) was the main reason that Max didn’t want to go back. Apparently Max had thought that whatever was happening to him in the slums was better than whatever would happen when he returned.

Pierre feels his discomfort rising, weighing down his chest and sending his stomach twisting in mute horror. 

_ No one _ should be that afraid of their parents.

  
  


Charles watches Pierre and Daniel leaving the room, his friend shooting him a confused glance just before he disappears from view. He leans his head again on Max’s shoulder, too distracted by what he’s just been told to pay any attention to the familiarity of the position.

The air around Max is sullen and depressed, and Charles feels his spirits souring with his friend’s.

“When did you decide you wanted to be an F1 engineer?” He asks, finally, because if he can get Max to talk about something he loves then maybe he won’t be so sad anymore. It’s also quite the coincidence that so many people around him want to be involved with Formula One; first with Jules ( _ Papa? W-was that Uncle Jules’ car that crashed? Is he okay?) _ , then with Anthoine ( _ He’s gone, Charles, he’s gone!) _ , his little brother Arthur ( _ Charles, do you think that I can win a championship someday? _ ), and now with Max.

“It was actually after one of those stuffy business events. Our parents sent us to your room so that they could talk business without worrying about us.” 

Charles chuckles lightly. He remembers those nights, especially the shenanigans that occured when a bunch of bored rich kids were left alone without adult supervision.

“Do you remember that one time that Carlos and Lorenzo managed to sneak some wine from downstairs?” He asks, a fond smile growing on his face at the memories.

“Vic took one sip and decided that she much preferred beer to ‘whatever this strange pansy drink is’.” Max’s laugh rumbles in his chest, sending vibrations to Charles’ side, and… and it feels  _ nice _ . Charles laughs along with the blond, and finds himself leaning a bit more on the person next to him. Max doesn’t seem to mind, and his shoulder is quite comfortable if Charles is being honest. 

“You know, Charles,” Max starts, his voice sounding so fond that it nearly makes Charles’ heart melt a little “you made me realise that I f*cking  _ love _ cars. Formula One cars, in particular. ”

“Really?” Charles asks, a little surprised. He turns to Max, who is looking down at him with this soft expression on his face, and Charles would be lying if he said he didn’t feel atleast a little urge to kiss him that second.

“Yeah. You were the one who introduced me to Formula One, after all. You insisted that I had to watch Jules’ race with you and the others - and they were showing a pitstop and I realised that I wanted to be  _ there, _ one of those guys working to make the car better, faster, safer. The engineers and the drivers and everyone else in the pit worked like a well-oiled machine, everything calculated to the very last step, and it  _ amazed _ me. And then the marvel of machinery those cars were-”

Max’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he talks, and a bittersweet feeling rises in Charles’ chest at the mention of Jules. 

It figures that his godfather, the man who inspired him to be the best he could be for all those years, continues to give inspiration to people even now. 

And then there’s the rush of tenderness, because Max really is grinning through his words like an excited child, and Charles doesn’t think he’s seen such a look of pure happiness on the other’s face since they were kids.

How could Max’s father even think about taking this away from Max, when it brought him so much joy? The thought crosses Charles’ mind that perhaps he was just weak to Max in general, but he elects to ignore that for a moment.

_ It’s no secret that Verstappen senior doesn’t particularly care about what his children want either, _ a sarcastic little voice in his head says, and Charles frowns. That’s not entirely true, from what he’s seen - the man does try to do what he thinks is best for his kids, he just equates that to what he regrets and equates those to his kids’ hopes, and then tries to do what will help them get where he thinks they should be.

And after laying it out, even in his head, Charles has to admit that that scenario is not very favourable towards Jos. The thought of his father’s anger had been even worse than being stuck in the slums of a foreign country in Max’s opinion, and Charles finds his mind daring to ask questions he’s not sure he wants answered.

“Charlie?” Max has noticed Charles’ downtrodden countenance, and before he can stop himself, he says what he is thinking.

“What did your father do when you returned?”

Max’s face immediately drops, and Charles almost retracts his question because it hurts his heart to see that smile wiped from the dutchman’s face. Max takes a breath, glancing nervously down at Charles again - _ why does he keep doing that, I’m not about to laugh at him or suddenly hate him or something- _

“He honestly wasn’t too happy. We had a major argument, but I think that since I was gone for a year he was a little more careful with me.” Max runs his hands through his short hair, the emotion on his face one of stress, and a sudden tenseness found in the shoulder Charles was leaning on. “Later, though,  _ later, _ he almost disowned me after finding out that I still didn’t want to take over the company.”

And for a moment, Charles can not help but hate the corporate world, placing so much emphasis on money and success and legacy that a child wanting to follow their dreams is enough grounds to disown them. It isn't just Jos in this respect; he knows several people who have been faced with a similar level of expectation, and it was unfortunately all too common in the society they lived in.

“But being on my own for a year, actually no, living with Dan for a year, taught me a few things about what options I have for my own life.” Charles needs a second to compute that, because apparently Max had also  _ lived with Daniel for a whole entire year _ , and- wait, that isn’t the detail Charles should be focusing on, is it? He refocuses back on what Max is saying, because it’s probably really emotional and important to Max and thus warrants the monegasque’s full attention.

“So I fought back, and I painstakingly tried to talk it out with him - it was mostly because of Sandy that he was willing to listen to me at first - and now I’m here.” Max frowned, and Charles held back his happiness at the seemingly good ending to the tale. “He does keep trying to convince me to reconsider what I want to do, but I think he’s atleast partially more accepting towards the fact that I’m just going to give the company over to Vic when I get it. I’ll give her help if she wants it, of course, but she’s worked for it all her life and I think she would be a better head than I would.”

He chuckles, no real joy in the action, and Charles finds himself wilting at the bitterness in the other’s tone.

“It figures that father would try to force the ‘legacy of our family’ on one of his kids when the other one is clearly a much more passionate and better qualified individual to lead the company. It figures that father didn’t like that Vic and I actually had a good relationship so he tried to drive a wedge between us and seal Vic out of the family like he tried to do with mum. It figures that I still have to figure out how to interact with other people like an actual human being and not a machine, but half the time it doesn’t work because all people see me as just a perfect little heir, driven by blind ambition and nothing else. It figures that whenever I talk to father and the company comes up, I have to make sure I’m not saying anything that could rope me into heading it for the rest of my life, and that I have no clue how I’m going to get a job in F1 if father doesn’t want me to, because he knows so many people there and all it would take was one sentence for him and I’d be blacklisted from ever working on any team-” 

Max trails off, his voice thrumming with barely repressed anger. He simultaneously sounds like he’s about to go throw hands with someone out on the street and like he’s going to break down and start crying on the sofa. 

All Charles can do is throw his hands around Max’s waist and bury himself into Max’s side, and whisper ‘it’s okay, it’s going to be okay’ over and over like that will somehow make it true. He realises with a start that Max is trembling slightly -which makes perfect sense, considering the weight of what he’s just hurriedly confessed. 

Charles likes to think he knows Max, but he’s had such a heavy weight on his shoulders for such a long time, and Charles didn’t even have a single clue. He feels Max’s pain, his worry, as if it were his own, each new tremble sending a whirl of emotions through his chest. 

Charles feels a new wetness land on his cheek, and looks up to find that Max is crying silently, staring resolutely ahead with no other indication save for his slightly-stuttered breaths, and Charles tightens his arms around the other. Of course, Charles knows that Max must cry at some times too, because he is also only human, but to see it himself is powerful in a way that Charles cannot even begin to describe.

“You’ll be alright, we can figure this out,” he says through his own sudden tears, muffled against the Dutchman’s shirt and choking slightly with his uneven breaths. Max’s hand cards its way through Charles’ hair, and then he’s being embraced like a lifeline, being held on to like he might disappear if Max were to let go. They stay there for an indiscernible amount of time, in eachother’s tight embrace and with Charles muttering reassurances all the while. 

Max eventually calms slightly, his breathing regaining some regularity as his arms loosen in their death grip around the younger. Charles doesn’t move, finding his position comfortable and content to stay there until Max deems otherwise.

He doesn’t seem to mind either, if the hand running through his hair is any indication. Charles shifts slightly, looking up to see a fond smile on Max’s face as he gazes down at him. 

_ Thank you. _

Charles grins back, and a sweet energy fills the air as time seems to stop. It’s such a nice feeling, and the brunet wishes for a moment that he could stay there forever.

“Wow Charlie, getting a little tactile there, are we?”

Charles whirls around with a squeak, startling violently in Max’s arms. Max and Pierre - who has entered the room behind the person who had spoken- are both laughing at his reaction. Charles feels a blush coming to rest on his face, but not unaccompanied by a shy smile at Max’s laughter.

“Mon  _ Dieu _ , Daniel! You have to stop doing that!” 

The Australian looks unbothered at Charles’ brief explosion, smirking and sending him a little wink. Pierre has quieted from behind Daniel, and a cloud seems to have fallen over his demeanour. He looks, for lack of a better word, like he is processing something and is finding it hard to comprehend.

The other meets Charles’ eyes, before glancing up to Max.

“You two look very comfortable, but we should probably finish the cake.” 

_ So we’re talking about it later, then. _

Charles lightly swats Pierre on the arm as he passes him, and Max follows, arguing with the other two about whether or not he and Charles were cuddling. 

“Mate, he was practically curled up on you when we walked in. I think that is cuddling,  _ at the very least _ .” Daniel is saying as they all gather around the table once more, with Charles pulling the cake out of the fridge. The monegasque blushes again, and turns to Pierre, only to find him staring down at the worktop, brows furrowed. Charles’ smile drops slightly, because something’s bothering Pierre, but the other just waves him off when he finally meets Charles’ gaze.

The brunet reluctantly lets the matter go, and turns back to Max and Daniel. The dutchman is laughing, and he looks so beautiful in that moment that Charles feels like he’ll be blinded by the other’s radiance. Daniel catches him staring and  _ f*cking winks at him, _ and Charles finds that his face matches his bright red bandanna. 

  
  


They’re finishing the final details on the cake, and Charles is feeling quite satisfied with their work, when Lando’s bright voice calls through the hall.

“Hello everyone, we’ve arrived!” He proclaims, walking into the room with his arms thrown outwards. Carlos follows him after a minute, carrying a large box of what look like biscuits. “And we’ve come with mante-monty-monta-”

“Mantecados.” Carlos gently corrects, laughter in his voice. The spaniard looks fondly down at his younger friend, and Charles finds himself wondering if he looks like that at Max.

“Christmas biscuits!” Lando exclaims excitedly, and Charles smiles at his friend’s enthusiasm. Max raises an eyebrow, coming up besides Charles. He questions Lando on his word choice, and they soon fall into a friendly argument as Carlos lays the pastries he’s brought out for inspection. Charles finds himself subtly (or so he hopes) admiring Max as he puts the final detail on the top of the cake. He must not be as covert as he thought he was, because Daniel sidles up to him with a slight nudge.

“Charlie, I know that Max has a jawline that could probably cut glass, but we should probably get that detailing finished before the buttercream on the inside melts.”

Charles shoves Daniel as Pierre and Carlos snicker in the background at the resulting incoherent stuttering.

Max smirks ( _ no Charles, bad Charles, that’s not the hottest thing you’ve ever seen _ ) and just  _ turns back to his conversation with Lando like he hadn’t just smirked at Charles like that- _

“You’ll figure it out eventually.” Carlos says reassuringly as he pats Charles’ shoulder on his way past the other. 

“You’re one to talk.” Charles grumbles in response, and Carlos just laughs before he goes to talk with Daniel. Time passes in a debate with Lando about whether or not he can steal one ‘Christmas biscuit’ (which ends in Carlos confessing that he’d baked extras, that were sitting out in his car), and before Charles feels it the day has ended and everyone is returning to his own house - save for Max and Daniel, who are already in their flat.

Max stops him before he exits, telling him that they need to talk about something. Daniel takes Pierre out into the hall with a knowing expression on his face, and suddenly Charles knows exactly what’s about to happen, and braces himself because this can go one of three ways and he’ll be damned if it ends with a break of friendship between himself and Max-

_ (It’s six years later, and Charles and Max are standing outside of a dingy old building somewhere in Leeuwarden. Some of the younger children look at Charles suspiciously, but they know Max, and they eagerly come to talk to him when they see who it is.  _

_ He catches a final year student on her way out, and her face lights up when she receives the homemade Bua Loy, courtesy of Alex’s mum’s recipe. Charles can’t stop the smile from taking over his face as she walks off, silently marvelling at the dessert she’s just received. He has come here with Max every year since this tradition had started, and every year he found immense joy in seeing the kids lay eyes on nostalgic sweets they thought they’d never have the chance to taste again. _

_ “Well, that was the last of them. Are you ready to go, Charlie?” Max asks, walking back to him. The younger kids run off after waving goodbye to the dutchman, and he grins as he watches them go.  _

_ “Oui, mon amour. I still think it’s incredible what you do for these kids. It’s really lucky that Red Bull let you take this weekend off to come out here and give these kids the sweets yourself.” Charles gives Max a small kiss on the forehead, and Max chuckles lightly. _

_ “You are one to say anything, Mister Big-Banking-Official.” Max ruffles Charles’ hair, and they turn to walk back to the bus stop. Charles pulls a hat down over his face as they come closer to the station; apparently being a successful businessman and the brother of Ferrari’s newest prodigy brings a fair amount of publicity to his face. Max does the same, because although he’s not working for his father’s company, he is still the brother of the person who does run it, and his face has always been all-to-recognisable to the papers. _

_ (Charles is secretly very relieved that Max does not work under Jos, because he doesn’t think he could bear to see Max’s brilliant fire of passion being stamped out.) _

_ The bus arrives, and Max holds his hand out to Charles. _

_ “Shall we?”) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde! 
> 
> Myst is writing here.
> 
> It has been a little bit of a while, has it not? I apologise deeply for the long wait, I hope that this chapter being a little longer will be making up for that.
> 
> Obligatory thank you to @Did_I_SEND_IT for editing this again. I saw that he did not tell you very much about the situation, so allow me to be clarifying. 
> 
> My maman is ill. She has gotten the covid, and she is in the hospital back home. I am here in the United-States alone, because I was an exchange student to my area and I should have gone back to Monaco in May. Thankfully, my hosting family let me stay in light of the pandemic and I was being able to get my visa extended to next year. My maman and I, we never had the best relations; the pressures described on Max here are some what my maman did to me, except a little better (my sister, the older one, was the person who ran away, but she is safe and back with the family. I think she and maman talk a lot more now). Still, i am very worried that I cannot be there and I was not very healthy in my head recently, because my maman is a wonderful person at her heart and I cannot bear the thought of losing her because I love her very much. 
> 
> My papa is trying to keep the famille together, but it is stressful for him too. 
> 
> Anyways, I am very strongly sorry for the long wait. The next chapter will probably not be up tomorrow, but hopefully sooner than the last one. The next may be about the media circus.
> 
> Also, I want your opinion, dear readers. I do not much like the second story in this book and may redo it after all the other chapters. Would you like me to do that, or do you prefer it as it is?
> 
> Merci à tous! And please be staying safe!


	5. Snapshots of Time, Through Unwitting Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Media has been ever-present in Charles' life since he was a kid. Sometimes, he wonders,
> 
>  _How much have they witnessed?_
> 
> Max knows what the cameras can see. He knows what they can see, and he also knows that
> 
> _Some things are better left in the dark._
> 
> Light warnings for panic attacks and some dangerous follower behaviour.

_ Prologue _

“No, it was just a racing incident. He says I race rough, but I just want to win. It was not unnecessary, and maybe he should look at his own driving if he has a problem with mine. He drives reckless all the time. More than I do.”

Charles is _ fuming _ . The small tablet shakes in his hand as he watches Verstappen’s interview with the media from their last track. They are rivals, both on track and off of it, and Charles genuinely can not think of someone who annoys him more than the blond. He looks so smug- so pleased with himself and his answer to that newsperson, and Charles feels his shoulders tense in light frustration.

Max is probably the most dangerous person to ever get in a kart, and then he goes and calls  _ Charles’ _ driving reckless?

_ Idiot. What an idiot _ !

Charles’ annoyance lasts through to the next kart race, where he complains to Pierre while watching Anthoine get ignored by Max when he tries to get the other to play football with them. Anthoine is a genuinely nice guy, and while Pierre is closer to the other than Charles was, the younger cannot help but resent Max a little for his high-and-mighty attitude.

He says as much to Pierre, who just gives him that look of knowing ( _ you’re not that much more mature, Pierre, you’re only a year older than me _ ) and turns back to watching the situation. Finally, he speaks as Anthoine gives up his pursuit and begins back to the two.

“I don’t really think that it’s entirely his fault, Charles. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“Yeah,” Anthoine says, coming to walk beside them, “He looked like he was about to agree, but then his dad yelled something at him and he didn’t.”

“He didn’t even talk to you!” Charles incredulously points out, because perhaps some people deserved doubt, but Max was almost certainly a jerk. His driving was enough to show that.

“I saw it in his face, Charlie.” Anthoine exchanges a look with Pierre, and Charles knows with a certainty that he’s about to get teased, “You’re still a baby. You’ll understand once you get older.”

“I’m only one year and one month younger than you, Anthoine!” Charles protests, but the other two just laugh in response. Pierre ruffles his neatly-combed hair, and he swats the other’s hand away with a pout.

Later, he catches a glimpse of Max walking, head bowed, behind his furious father after the race. Max had crashed out, but it was not through any fault of his own for once; one of the newer kids did not know the concept of understeering, and ended up knocking Max - who had  _ lapped _ this kid- off the track when the newcomer went into a tailspin.

_ Perhaps, _ he muses,  _ perhaps there’s a little truthfulness to what Pierre and Anthoine were saying. _

  
  


_ Première _

There’s a post-race press conference, and Charles nervously fidgets as he sits in his seat. He’s never felt as much like a child than he does (even though he’s fourteen, not really a child anymore), sitting at that big table after an exciting kart race, but Jules says that it’s good to get lots of press practice. Pierre sits on Charles’ left, and the monégasque is urgently whispering in french to his friend when Max sits down beside him. Charles stiffens a little bit, because he and Max get plenty close on track, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been in this proximity of the other boy. 

He looks...kind of cute, actually. His hair is mussed from the helmet, his cheeks rosy and full as he smiles at someone else, and those ruby red lips - Charles puts that thought out of his head the minute he thinks it, his face matching the Ferrari suit that Jules is sure to get any day now. Pierre nudges him, Charles’s flushed cheeks not escaping his best friend’s notice. Anthoine winks at him from the small crowd that has gathered, and Charles wants to faceplant into the table.

_ Stupid teenage hormones _ . 

He takes a breath, willing himself to calm down, and -hold on.

“Is that Joe Dassin?” He asks, almost incredulously, and Max turns to him in surprise. Charles registers that he has spoken out loud one second too late, and now he wants the table to faceplant into him. Pierre snickers into his hand, trying to keep from laughing in front of all the cameras.

“Yes, it is,” Max finally responds, “My grand-mum likes his music. How do you know about him, er-” Max looks over at Pierre’s direction, almost nervously, and Pierre takes this opportunity to enter the conversation. 

“Charles.” The frenchman says, and Charles’ jaw nearly drops as he realises that the other doesn’t know his name. They were  _ rivals _ , dammit, how did Max not know his name?!

“-Charles.” Max finishes, the word sounding a bit strange on his accented tongue. He smiles, and said monegasque finds that he really doesn’t mind anymore, because the room seems to light up and maybe they didn’t have to be rivals after all-

The man who is conducting the interview settles down and introduces himself then, and Charles drags his attention away as the questions start. He and Max exchange looks and smiles and laugh together before looking back at eachother and prompting more laughter, and Charles feels like he blushes whenever Max shoots him a smirk or when their hands brush. When Charles rewatches the interview later, he thinks that everyone can tell how utterly entranced he is by this newly-discovered,  _ human _ side of Max.

Or, atleast Pierre, Anthoine, Jules, and his family can, judging by his friends’ insistence on teasing him and dragging Max into every conversation. Arthur has taken to snickering whenever Charles gets flustered, and his little brother and Max are suddenly best friends, which- Charles doesn’t even know how _ that  _ happened. When Max’s mother comes to the races, which isn’t often, Charles’ own mother also takes the initiative to approach her; leaving Charles and Max to talk while Pascale and Sophie build up a friendship as well.

His father and Jules take him aside one day for a fairly awkward conversation about responsibility and being sure to let what happens on track stay on track, especially if he wants to get involved with another driver, which is self-explanatory.

(And after tensions grow frigid again, they find themselves at another press panel together, and fall into the familiar rhythm they have carefully built up. Charles thinks that yes, he definitely prefers this to being rivals.)

_ Deuxième _

“Charles, before I start my question-” 

_ Oh my god. Oh my god. _

Max recognises that voice. A small grin grows on his face as he exchanges a glance with Charles. The other does not seem to know who this person is; perhaps he faintly remembers the voice from somewhere, but Charles does not look like he is aware of what is about to hit him.

_ This is going to be great. _

Kevin, on Max’s other side, stretches a little, clearly settling in for the long haul. He already looks spaced out, not listening to whatever this man is saying. Max glances back at Charles again, but the other is focussed on the reporter. The smile fades for a second - _ why is he this desperate for Charles’ attention _ \- but then returns full force when he sees the look on Charles’ face. 

He looks like he is processing, and Max can almost see the little blue circle going round and round in his head - and Max silently thanks the reporter, because when else will he get to see Charles this utterly bewildered?

He’s saying something about being unlucky, and less good races (if Max is being honest, he stopped paying attention three words in), and the words are going on, and on, and on, Charles and Kevin both shifting slightly beside him. He glances over at Pierre, who is trying desperately not to laugh from where he is waiting for them, and he can’t stop another quick grin from flashing over his face.

This guy is always so entertaining, and Max will always remember the iconic ‘gentlemen, a short view back to the past’ question; really, he has to find whoever keeps letting him into press conferences and thank them.

He hears his name, so he tunes back into whatever the guy is saying, smile faltering slightly on his face as he realises the reporter is talking about Charles’ mishaps this season. He can empathise a little bit with Charles there, it’s never nice to be reminded about how you failed in a race, and he knows that Charles will already be looking down on himself for the mishaps. Unfortunately, it is a part of being a Formula One driver, to have people critique your driving.

“I’ve lost it.” Charles says suddenly, and Max is pretty sure he’s the one that has lost it, because he can’t stop himself from doubling over in brief laughter. The monegasque sounded so confused (he’s cute when he’s confused, but Max ignores that) and this coupled with the reporter’s paragraph of a question is enough to send Max over the edge.

He takes a minute to reign himself back in, hearing Charles chuckle lightly from beside him. He glances at the other, to meet green eyes glowing with confined merriment. He has to drag his gaze away because Charles is beautiful in that moment, and he knows that something will happen unless he doesn’t.

( _ It scares him slightly, the amount of power that Charles has always held over him, but no one needs to know. _ )

He takes another moment to calm himself down, reminding himself that he is in front of the cameras, but it isn’t very long before another smile grows on his face.

This guy is brilliant. Max can’t believe that he gets to witness this live.

“Now, my question to the popstar of Formula One-”

Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise; he has never made that comparison before, but it’s actually not too far off. Charles is polite, good for the media, talented at what he does, and a real crowd pleaser.

(Not to mention, he’s certainly pretty enough to be a popstar-)

Max gestures to Charles, hoping that he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels, trying to act normal because even though he’s accepted the fact that he may like Charles, thoughts like that still come out of  _ nowhere. _

(And it’s all hoping in vain anyway, Charles could do so much better than Max, why would someone like Charles Leclerc even consider someone like him-)

“Kevin.” Charles replies, with a smile and a point, and Max is surprised for a moment because he didn’t even know Charles was paying attention to him, let alone that he would respond. 

He trades a glance with Charles, giving some gestures of communication with eachother as Max tries to keep from laughing out loud. He adores their interactions, whenever he can get them, and it fills his heart with a giddy kind of happiness whenever Charles smiles at him.

He looks at the monegasque again, knows the glance is lasting for a stupidly long time, but Charles’ reactions, the multiple expressions that flit across his face, are so hilarious and adorable at the same time. Max really could go on, about the other’s cute little pout when he’s confused, or the way that his eyes glisten under the bright lights, and he realises with a start that he sounds like a romantic interest in those bad films Lando likes to watch and make fun of.

_ Oh my god, when did I become such a lovestruck idiot? _

The look of confusion hits Charles once more as the reporter concludes his question, and Max collapses into slight laughter again. This question is absolute gold; Charles looks like he’s experiencing a system processing error, and from the other side of Max, Kevin has spent the past five minutes staring into space and contemplating his life decisions.

_ This guy should write the math word problems _ , Max thinks to himself.

“- thank you.” The man finishes, and the dutchman has to take a breath to calm the hysterics.

“Wow.”

_ Troisième _

Dilara Sanlik.

The name brings a bitter taste to Charles’ tongue as he scrolls through Max’s instagram, newly-filled with pictures of him and his ‘girlfriend’. They look idyllic, happy, two pretty people just enjoying their lives with eachother - and it looks perfect,  _ so perfect _ , that the green in his eyes is from jealousy, and he cannot stop an irrational stab at his heart every time he sees them together.

Irrational, because Charles  _ knows _ it is fake, just for the cameras so Max can shake the reputation of a ‘playboy’. And he knows this for sure, because Max has straight-up told him and Daniel and probably Lando after the news had first broken- so it really wasn’t fair to Dilara that Charles feels a twisting in his stomach every time he sees a picture of her and Max together. For god’s sake, He is doing the same thing with Charlotte to cover from the conservative side of the Italian press, and he really has no reason to feel badly towards Dilara.

What is worse, Charles cannot find it in himself to pin her as the object of his frustration, either. She is a nice lady, and she is either extremely perceptive or Max is  _ denser than a brick _ , because she had figured out within twenty minutes that Charles very much likes Max more than the friendship they have. 

(Charlotte, that traitor, had spent twenty minutes laughing with Dilara about it after they’d become friends, and Charles can only be thankful that Max hadn’t walked into the room right then.)

Still, he sees the way that Dilara has draped herself half in Max’s lap and something in his heart  _ burns _ . He wants to be the one touching the dutchman like that, running his hands through golden hair and showing all the world that this beautiful, wonderful person is  _ his _ . They already have a close enough relationship as friends, exchanging brief hugs and banter whenever they pass eachother in the paddock, but Charles sees how much there could be, and he  _ aches _ . He could be the one littered across Max’s instagram, could hold Max in the early hours of the morning and celebrate with him after a good weekend; and the thought eats him alive, burns under his skin like it has turned his blood to fire.

He wants  _ more _ , so much more, but it lingers always just out of reach; and so Charles contents himself with cherishing what he has the way he’s learned to do over these past few years, and ignoring the hole that opens just a little bigger in his heart when he gets a glimpse of what will never be.

_ What I would give to hold the world in my hands- _

It all comes to a peak one morning, when he and Max are lazily sprawled out on the Dutchman’s bed after a long night of post-race games. It had been a tiring day for Pierre, so the frenchman had declined to join them, but Daniel had been there - and was probably the one to put Charles and Max in the bed once they fell asleep halfway through some version of a racing game. 

Max shifts lightly from besides Charles, his hand searching through the bedsheets until it intertwines with the monegasque’s own. Charles moves to a sitting position, a slight redness adorning his face at Max’s grip on his hand. There’s a familiar pang of longing, of want, but it is dulled by the peaceful early-morning atmosphere, and a fond smile grows on Charles’ face as he watches the Dutchman blink fully awake.

_ How lucky I am, to even see this, but it shows me what could be mine, and I despair- _

Charles is struck by how ethereal the other looks in that moment, the rays of light lazily filtering through the partially-open window and turning his hair to a bright, magical gold. He looks gracefully porcelain, innocent and carefree in a way that Charles rarely gets to see, and he feels an indescribable feeling rising in his chest. It fills up his heart, stopping his breaths in his chest, with a need to do something, anything, to show his love to this man, and Charles doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hand reaches towards Max, before aborting the movement and falling limply to his lap.

Max says something stupid about Daniel being such a mum sometimes, chuckling at his own joke, and the feeling overflows. He is drowning, but it’s euphoric and confusing and lovely and light and-

“I love you.” Charles says softly, the declaration ringing in the morning silence. He’s not sure if it’s in French, or English, or even Italian, and the words slip out without any sort of permission from his half-awake brain. 

He’s jolted back to alertness as he registered what he’s said, and is filled with a mix of horror and sadness and an all-encompassing fear as Max blinks at him, looking taken aback. Max has not given him any sort of indication that he reciprocates Charles’ emotion, and the younger silently braces for a rejection.

_ I took a chance, I took a risk, and now I will lost what little I had- _

“Oh.” Max says, finally, “Me too.”

Charles thinks his brain may have ceased to function, because all he can do is stare at the other in pronounced disbelief. Max goes back to looking at the ceiling, humming something or the other, before glancing back at Charles after a few moments.

“What, is it really that hard to process?” Max is raising a critical eyebrow at him, and Charles goes into doing damage control because of all the ways he has imagined (hopefully) getting together with Max, stumbling his way through an awkward reassurance is not one of them.

“Y-yes- I mean n-no! It’s j-just you- you and I c-could have-'' Max smirks, cutting off Charles’ blushing and stuttering explanation with a gentle hand on his cheek.

Max is his. He is Max’s.

“If it’s all the same to you, Charlie, I think I would like to kiss you now.”

And what else can Charles say but yes?

_ Quatrième _

It’s Daniel’s idea, to watch that new series that Netflix has done on all of them, and Charles wonders if it's a good idea even as he cuddles into Max’s side on the couch of Daniel’s hotel room.

He has to admit that he is also a little curious as to what exactly Netflix has done with the recordings they took over the past two seasons, though.

Carlos, Lando, Alex, George, and Pierre are also there, trying to remain the closest to socially distanced that they can, but they all know it’s fruitless - and it doesn’t make a difference, really, because they share space on the paddock and interview tables and they would know if one of them had COVID by now. Pierre squeezes into the little space left on the couch as Daniel settles down on the floor between Max and Charles’ legs, and Charles feels relaxed, with his favourite people around him after the too-long quarantine. Carlos sits down next to Daniel, Lando’s head on his lap from where the brit is laying down, and Alex and George settle on the two small chairs next to the couch. Charles is glad they are all together, and able to enjoy eachothers’ presence - he has really missed everyone.

Still, he has seen some things people are saying about the Netflix documentary - and wonders again if they should just leave this alone. He remembers Romain -who had thought it a fun watch with his wife and children - complaining about some of the issues with perspective and framing, and when a man as naturally sunny as Romain Grosjean complains (about anything except racing, that is) there was surely some truth to what he says.

“Is this really a good idea? To watch things about ourselves from a tension-filled year?” Charles’ voice sounds unsure, and he doesn’t really know why he is overthinking this so much. Max tenses a little from beside him, and Charles squeezes his arm, looking up to see a slightly uncomfortable look on the other’s face as he pretends to scroll through his phone. Still, the dutchman does not say anything, and when Lando responds with a ‘it will be cool to see what they did with all our clips and stuff’, Charles settles down with the resignation that they will be watching this documentary.

(They only get three and a half episodes in before Daniel takes the remote and turns off the series. It’s not bad, drama-wise, but it’s certainly not an accurate reflection of events, either. Charles cannot associate the people he sees in that television show with the drivers he knows. And Max- Charles  _ hates _ the way they have villanised him, framed him as everything he has worked so hard to overcome, removed the ways how Max is striving to improve himself-

“Now that we are all sufficiently annoyed,” Carlos finally starts, “Who wants to play Fifa instead?” Lando groans at the mention of the game, and Alex and George trade a slightly amused glance. Pierre grumbles something about Carlos’ unhealthy obsession with the game, and that starts a round of banter which Daniel and Lando quickly get involved in. The tension seems to have diffused, but Max has been quiet - usually the blond would not pass up the opportunity to playfully tease his former teammate - and Daniel knows this too, if the concerned glances from him to Max were any indication. 

Charles resolves to talk to him about it later, and they head to Carlos’ room in a clump to spend the rest of their evening.)

  
  


Charles wakes to muffled sounds of rapid, shallow breaths. He takes a moment to orient himself - he is in Max’s room, both of them having headed back after a surprisingly fun Fifa tournament, and the pale body under him is heaving much too quickly.

“Max?” He asks, shifting himself to be able to see his boyfriend’s face in the darkness of the room. The elder’s breath catches briefly, before resuming their swift pace. “Mon amour, what is going on?” Charles is concerned now, getting no response from the other save for the hurried breathing. 

Max is curled up, knees drawn as physically close to his chest as they can be, his gaze wide and fixed on something only he can see. His breaths rush in, out, in, out, flimsy and shallow and definitely not taking in enough air. Max seems panicked, caught in his own mental world and senseless to Charles’ attempts to communicate, and it hits Charles all at once - he’s having a panic attack.

Charles himself has had one or two - but he cannot remember how he was talked down from that terrible brink of anxiety, and he finds himself reaching for his phone to contact the person he knows for sure will be able to help. Charles doesn’t know what to do, and he’s terrified that he will make it worse, end up hurting Max more in his quest to assist, and although he wants so badly to do something, _ anything _ , he selects the contact and puts the device up to his ear. 

As it rings, he briefly registers that Max’s sounds are still oddly choked, and in one terrible moment he realises that Max’s hands are clamped firmly around his mouth to stop the sound even as his chest heaves for air. 

“Whozzit?” The person mumbles tiredly from the other end, and Charles can’t even feel relieved that the call’s been picked up because  _ he can’t get Max’s hands off his face- _

“Daniel! It’s Charles-come here, please!” Charles nearly shouts over the line, sounding half-panicked himself even as he tries to pry Max’s hands away. The Australian, now fully alert, gives a quick confirmation and the line goes dead. The phone drops from the hand of Charles, and he really doesn’t know what he should do now, so he settles for whispering ‘you’re safe, you’re alright, no one will hurt you,’ over and over until Daniel arrives. He doesn’t even know if Max can hear him - he can barely hear himself over the roaring in his ears, but it’s all he can think to do. He feels a sense of fear and helplessness (desolation, and terror) settle over him as he watches the love of his life struggle to breathe on the bed.

There is a knock on the door, and Charles scrambles out of their bed to hurriedly open it. The haphazard-looking Renault Driver pushes past Charles, and the monegasque follows him anxiously to the darkened room where Max is laying. Sometime between when Charles left to open the door and the two entered the room, tears have started making their way down Max’s cheeks, and Charles stifles the worried urge to take Max into a tight embrace until everything is alright. 

Daniel crouches by the side of the bed, directly in Max’s line of sight, placing a hand on his shoulder and waiting until the dutchman’s hazy attention has focused on him. He starts speaking in a smooth and calming voice, telling Max to breathe with him, and all Charles can do is stand off to the side and watch. 

He’s so useless. He _ knows _ this trick, could have helped Max, but he could not remember it when it mattered most. And now all he can do is watch as Daniel attempts to remedy the situation, having failed his role as a partner - how could he consider himself a good boyfriend if he cannot even support his other when something happens? He could have,  _ should have _ , done so much more. 

Charles shakes his head. He’s scared, and slightly confused at the suddenness of the event, but he will have time to evaluate himself later -now, he must focus on Max.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, Max does begin to calm down. His breathing slows, and he finally draws his hands away from his face as he regains some awareness. His eyes still dart around, searching for something, before they are settling on the person in front of him.

“Dan?” He asks, tiredly, and the Australian takes Max into a tight embrace. Charles still lingers behind, hesitant to intrude on whatever is happening here, but Daniel gives him a meaningful look over the top of his head and Charles gives into the urge and cuddles into Max’s back. The dutchman tenses at the unexpected contact, and Charles’ hold loosens a slight bit.

“It’s just me, mon ange.” Charles knows he sounds tired too - all that’s left of his earlier fear is a light buzzing that serves to keep him slightly on edge even as the fatigue of the late night hits him. It’s unfairly warm and comfortable, in the bed against Max’s side, but Charles knows he cannot fall back asleep until he knows that they are alright - if only until tomorrow morning. He has to know Max will be alright, that he will be alright, and then they can sort this out in the morning light.

Max’s shoulders start shaking at the endearment, and he turns around to wrap his arms tightly around the brunette. Charles can feel his pillow getting wet from where Max’s tears hit it, and feels a wave of intense sadness wash through him even as he brings Max closer to him. Daniel gets up, saying that he will go make some warm milk for when Charles and Max want to come back outside, and Charles sees him leave out of the corner of his eye. 

Max cries for a long time, and like every other time he has, all Charles can do is lay there with him and hold him through it. No words are exchanged, except for Charles’ murmured endearments. He knows how much Max likes his nicknames, and only hopes that they bring comfort in these dark moments.

(They head outside after a little bit, and Daniel has three steaming mugs of milk sitting out on the worktop. He is already sipping his, and gives Charles a smile as the two hesitantly walk in. 

The first thing Max says is ‘I’m sorry’, and it’s to Daniel, and they both know that this ordeal was most likely brought on from the ‘documentary’ that was partially seen earlier. Daniel refuses to accept the apology on the basis that Max has nothing to apologise to him anymore, and Charles can only nod dumbly when Max turns to him for confirmation. The dutchman stays pressed against Charles’ side through the entire conversation, and Charles’ hand stays wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

They eventually find out that Max’s biggest fear is turning out the way that his dad was to him as a kid, and Charles thinks his heart breaks when he hears this.

Max, although a little rough around the edges, is thoughtful and sweet at heart, constantly looking to improve who he is as a person - and Charles does not know how he thinks he could ever end up like  _ Jos _ .)

(Daniel ends up staying over and sleeping on the couch, and Charles wakes up the next morning to find him talking to someone - probably Micheal- about how Max was still a kid, and he shouldn’t have to face this type of character assasination on top of the pressure to perform as the ‘prodigy of Red Bull’. He looks devastated as he talks, and Charles finds himself silently agreeing even as he turns around and goes back to the bedroom.) 

_ Cinquième _

Max cannot believe his ears. Really, he can’t.

Who do these people think they are?

Next to him, Charles goes wide-eyed in surprise, and he looks like his soul has just been shaken on a fundamental level. The room is silent, half waiting for his response and the other half reeling in shock -just like Max is - at what had just taken place. Max sees Pierre clasp his best friend’s hand in a tight grip under the conference table, nearly vibrating in anger as multiple emotions rage across his face. Charles opens his mouth to say something, before closing it again, unsure how to respond. 

As if something like that even deserves a response. 

There’s no way he’s letting Charles even try to dignify that with any sort of response.

Taking a short breath to quell his own anger, Max manages to catch Lando’s eye from the other side of Pierre, and his annoyance must show in his expression because the younger sends him a slight warning look. Still, he gives Max a hesitant, quick thumbs-up from the top of the table.

_ Do what you need to, but don’t be stupid about it. _

Pierre takes a calming breath in Max’s periphery, closing his eyes to try and quiet his outrage. Charles is staring blankly at the table, and the Dutchman can see the pieces go together and fall back apart in the brunet’s head as he tries to find what to say. He looks lost, and confused, and halfway blindsided, none of which should be on his sweet, pretty face, because Charles deserves all the happiness in the world.

How dare these people come in and purposely poke at open wounds? He may be able to understand if they were picking apart racing (it is their job, and people have the right to ask them about decisions they make on track) but this- this was out of nowhere.

“What kind of a question was that?” Max cooly asks, before Charles can get himself together enough to give some type of press answer to the statement. Behind the reporter whom had asked that question, Max can see his father’s eyes, roaring with fury, and Max has no doubt that he will get a ‘what exactly do you think you are doing?!’ lecture from him later. He chooses to send his father a challenging stare, before turning away and putting that for later. 

The blond does not dare to take a look at Charles, because he knows the other will be looking at him with worry -for Max’s career, for what the media will say about Max - and he think his resolve may weaken if faced with Charles.

The room is silent once again, this time waiting for the media-person to say something. She looks Max over, a slight scowl on her face, and Max knows that she is trying to determine whether or not Max is important enough to grovel to. The dutchman has to hold back a smirk - she’s mistaken if she thinks it’s only him she will be facing for that query. The cameraperson glares at Max, and Max just sends back a raised eyebrow. He whispers something to the news anchor, and her face sets in determination.

“I believe, Verstappen, that I have the right to ask whatever I want. And I addressed Charlie, not you.”

Max bristles at the familiarity with which this goddamned anchor addresses his boyfriend, and is about to bite back with one of the scathing remarks he’s sure he’s known for, when-

“We are here to talk about cars and the race, not any sort of personal investigation. This is post-race interview, not a sort of exclusive thing where you discuss rumours and internet drama.”

It’s Alonso, Fernando Alonso, and Max is surprised for a moment before he feels a tinge of satisfaction. If Fernando’s on their side, then these mediapeople have no chance of getting away with whatever they are trying to pull. The elder Spaniard’s eyes flick over to Max as he leans back in his chair, and Max takes that as a cue to refocus on the interview before him. The cameraperson, in particular, looks livid -even more so than the annoyed news anchor whom he is accompanying, and Max notes that with no small amount of interest. 

He’s still not looked over at Charles, because he has to stay strong in his stance until this conference is over, but he does give the other’s hand a reassuring squeeze when Charles seeks him out under the table. 

“Now, if we may continue,” Pierre finally grits out, and Max hears Lando excitedly launch into an explanation for some person from Sky Sports as the troublesome anchor and cameraperson leave. The dutchman makes sure to note the company name -Fantastic Formula Fanatics, what a strange brand- on the backs of their shirts, just in case he ever has to deal with them again.

  
  
  


Spoiler alert, they don’t go away. In fact, they seem to be more determined than before, showing up at every press conference in their black-and-yellow shirts; and it is always the same two people, too. Races, galas, even random marketing events - if press is allowed (or sometimes, when it isn’t), they are there, trying to get at Charles.

It’s getting a little strange, if Max is being honest. They have an obsession with Charles, and his personal life in particular, and while every driver is thankful for their fans, Max feels there is a line between an admiration for someone and creepy behaviour.

They haven’t done anything yet though, other than unnerve every driver except for Kimi, so Max cannot do anything.

Charles has taken to glancing around before he speaks, looking constantly on edge and with none of the bright, almost care-free attitude that Max has come to love. The dutchman does not know what to do- he comforts the other whenever he can, tries to help him relax when he’s sure they are alone. Pierre and Carlos make sure to be with Charles when Max cannot be, and the other drivers all help where they can.

(Lewis, interrupting the lady yellowshirt whenever she tries to ask Charles anything, and not letting her get a word in edgewise)

(Carlos politely chastising her when she asks again the horrible question that had started all this, then leading Charles back to the garage with a ‘sorry everyone, they want us back inside for a briefing’)

(Daniel and Lando effectively stealing the camera’s focus off of Charles with some well-timed antics, giving Max and Pierre the opening they need to get Charles out of the gala as quickly as possible. Multiple people from their teams see them leave, but they don’t say anything)

(Kimi’s dismissive ‘next’ when the woman tries to approach Charles at a press briefing, and her stormy expression when another reporter gives her a disgusted glance and begins to ask Lance another question)

(Sebastian’s friendly smile as he answers the reporter’s question  _ (it’s the same question, always the same question _ ) with something completely unrelated, and then Alex and George quickly diverting attention by answering something about their friendship)

(Daniil ‘accidentally’ bumping the camera on his way to the Alpha Tuari garage, and by the time the cameraman is done swearing at the Torpedo, Charles is gone)

And Max is grateful for the other drivers’ support, he’s glad they are on his side, really, but that doesn’t change the fact that Charles is curled up on their bed, covers all the way up and curtains fully drawn and secured against any crack of light. He’s still tense, exhausted after both the race and the evasion of the goddamned yellow-shirts afterwards, and he confessed to Max that he is worried about them following him back to the hotel room one of these days. He has a perpetual frown on his face, none of those shy-yet-radiant smiles seen, and Max is worried - they all are.

All the blond can do right now is wrap Charles into his chest, hold him until he’s asleep to let him know that _ he’s safe, he’s here, Max won’t leave him for those people to take by surprise- _

That night, after Charles has fallen asleep, Max goes to the other room, eyes still carefully on his sleeping boyfriend, and opens his phone.

“Hello, Pierre? I don’t care that they haven’t done anything significant, we need to get those guys banned.”

_ Sixième _

He’s  _ happy _ , okay? He knows it’s dangerous to kiss Charles out in the open like this, somewhere between the two Ferrari motorhomes, but they have both landed on a podium (with Daniel too, added bonus) after a very tough race, and this brings Max into contention for the championship - and he’s not really thinking about subtlety or where exactly they are.

It’s euphoric, and Charles responds eagerly, and all Max can think about is Charles as he pushes the other against the wall of the motorhome -he’s almost completely sure it’s Carlos’, but if the spaniard has a problem with it they can address that later.

Charles’ hands settle against his back, pulling him closer, and Max lets himself be drawn in, settling his own hands firmly on Charles’ hip.

Then Carlos and a Sky reporter round the corner, and everything seems to stop for a moment. There is a jolt of intense panic, ( _ what do we do what do we do what do we do, it’s all over if everyone finds out _ ) and Max can feel Charles’ breath stutter under him.

Carlos reacts the fastest out of any of them, shoving the camera downwards hopefully before it has had a chance to capture anything. Max springs away from Charles, both of them blushing. Charles looks down (Max can feel him trembling, whether out of shame or embarrassment or fear he’s not sure) and Max glares at the other three in a silent challenge even as he quivers inside.

The Sky reporters, thankfully, roll with it, and the cameraman raises the camera to another angle to catch the now-grinning anchor. To her credit, she acts perfectly like there is nothing going on, thanking Carlos for preventing a camera collision that never happened, and the Spaniard has his wits about him enough to chuckle and mutter something before the cameraman cuts the feed. 

Charles has sunk back against the motorhome, and Max feels a black fear rise in him as the three turn to face him. Carlos does know about Max and Charles’ relations, but neither of the teams do and he braces for some questioning from the Sky reporters. There is no way to deny what they have just witnessed, and Max only hopes that they will leave the issue alone if Max answers whatever queries they have. 

_ Show no unease, Max, you have to be strong for Charles, if you show them they get to you they will not leave it until they are satisfied, give no openings for mishaps- _

No questioning comes, surprisingly, and Max tensely watches the reporter and the cameraman trade a glance. The cameraman shrugs, and the reporter turns back to them. Max seeks Charles’ hand out, grips it tightly, and tries not to show how much his hands are shaking. Max is confused, and a little apprehensive - a conversation has clearly just taken place, but he has no clue what information transpired or what it meant for Charles and him. 

“Nothing happened here.” Is all she says with a smile, before she and the cameraman turn and leave. Carlos just chuckles, tells them to be more careful, and heads past them to his motorhome. 

Max exhales, and runs a hand through his hair, looking back at Charles. It seems they have closely avoided what could have otherwise been very bad, and it is only thanks to that team’s kindness and Carlos’ reaction time that they are not outed in a very sudden way.

Atleast, he thinks that means they won’t expose them. 

Charles meets his gaze, relief clear in his eyes, they stay there for a minute, still reeling from how wrong that could have gone, and how well it ended up going-

Max drives land rockets for a living, and somehow this moment gives him a similar rush of adrenaline. 

“So, do you want to finish that inside?” Charles asks cheekily after a moment, and Max smirks, before Charles takes his hand and drags him into his motorhome.

\---

Max takes a deep breath, grasping Charles’ hand in his as they face what could be the beginning of the end. Christian and Mattia are making uncomfortable conversation outside the Ferrari garage, neither of them knowing why they have been called here by both drivers.

_ Here it goes.  _

They step out together, hands firmly in eachother’s grip, and Max fixes the principals with a hard look to hide his unease.

“Charles and I are together. Romantically.” He says, perhaps a little bluntly, and Mattia’s jaw drops. Charles flinches, watching his team principal’s reaction, and Max tightens his hold on Charles’ hand.

“Was that supposed to be a secret?” Christian asks, sounding a little surprised, and Max blinks at him, because he apparently somehow found out about his relations with Charles along the way, and yet didn’t say anything.

“Since when? How long?” Mattia sputters from beside the other principal, and Max can see that Charles is scared, although he’s trying to hide it beneath a poker face. He leans in towards Charles, trying to convey that whatever happens, they were in this together. It was a big decision to make, and Max knows how anxious Charles has been about telling Ferrari. 

“For about two years or so, everyone in the garage already knows.” A mechanic says, walking by. Mattia looks utterly shocked, both at the fact that it’s been so long and that everyone but him apparently knows about this whole affair.

“It was quite obvious, really, you two are not subtle.” Christian points out, looking at his watch. Max and Charles trade a glance - they had known they were not too careful, but everyone on the grid seems to have found out, and that makes Max wonder exactly how obvious he and Charles have been. 

_ Who else knows? _

“Anyway, if that’s all,” Christian continues, turning to look at Max, “I am going to head back to the Red Bull garage. You need to be back in fifteen minutes too, Max, we have things we need to do.”

The dutchman mutely nods as his team principal walks away. Mattia is still gaping at the two of them, and Charles curls into Max’s side, tense and worried. 

Finally, he clears his throat, pushing up his glasses and looking anywhere other than the two drivers.

“Well, since it does not seem to be messing with your driving, I guess it’s fine.” Mattia says, and Max feels Charles exhale in relief.

“Thank you.” He says, grinning, and Max feels his gaze grow fond as he looks at Charles. He turns back to the Ferrari team principal to see him looking critically at the two of them, before giving Charles instructions to be back in the garage in five minutes for a briefing. 

Charles mutters a short assent, before turning back to Max. Their faces are centimeters away from eachother, and Max smirks and gives Charles a small kiss on the nose. 

The other goes red - it’s amazing how Max can still fluster him with the smallest movement - and his nose cutely scruches, causing laughter to bubble out of Max’s chest. 

“That was absolutely terrifying.” Charles collapses into his side, going limp as Max struggles to catch him.

“Charlie!” He squeaks out, his arms filled with monegasque, and the brunet tilts his head back to smile at him. Max finds himself smiling back, a soft, fluffy feeling filling his chest.

“Je t’aime, mon coeur.” Charles says after a minute, and Max hoists him back to his feet to pull him into a hug.

“I love you too, liefje.”

_ Epilogue _

“Ricciardo!” Max yells as he darts into the Mclaren garage, dodging engineers all the way, most of whom good-naturedly roll their eyes as they pass. Charles follows after his boyfriend, waving a quick apology to whoever Max almost bumps into, and he swears he hears a few mutters of ‘kids’ from the pit crew. 

Never mind that they were both about to turn 25, so they technically were not kids anymore. 

Daniel cackles as Max makes his way to the back of the garage, where there is a speaker blaring loud music that is echoing into the paddock outside. Lando collapses back onto a stack of tyres as well, laughing loudly and prompting a glare from the dutchman.

“ _ Max! Max! Max! Super Max! Max! Super Super Max! Max! Max! Super Max! Max! Super Super Max! _ ” The gadget sings, and Max annoyedly looks for a pause button on the speaker, hitting it before turning back to the Mclaren drivers. Both Lando and Daniel are in fits of laughter at this point, the younger doubled up against the wall.

“Oh my  _ god _ , guys!” Max says after a moment, putting his head in his hands. His cheeks are painted a slight red, and Charles giggles at seeing the unusual embarrassment on the other’s face. Max did not get flustered often, and Charles treasures the rare moments when he gets to see his boyfriend acting shy in a way he usually isn’t.

“That never gets old, Maxy.” Daniel says through his laughter, and Max rolls his eyes at him; although it’s offset by the fond smile on his face. He lightly slaps Daniel on the shoulder, and the Australian shoves him slightly in return. 

“I- I still can’t believe-” Lando pauses his sentence for a minute to catch his breath, “-that they made a  _ song _ about you!” He collapses in a fit of giggles again, and even though Charles is only a little older than the Brit, he has to admit that the other feels remarkably similar to an adorable child in that moment. Max groans, looking away at Charles in a silent plea for help, and Charles decides to take mercy on his rival.

“I think it’s sweet that his fans did that for him.” Charles slings an arm around Max’s shoulder, putting himself in the perfect position to give the other a small kiss on the cheek. Lando fake-gags a little (like he has anything to say, what with the way he and Carlos spend forever looking into eachother’s eyes every time they are together) and Daniel regards them with a smile on his face - Charles can tell that he is happy for Max, for both of them, and he’s glad to have a friend like Daniel.

“It’s sweet, but that doesn’t mean it’s still not absolutely hilarious.” Daniel replies to Charles, and Max’s face is practically glowing red at this point. Charles delights in the other’s expression, trying to stifle his own snickering behind his hand. 

“I swear mate, we’re going to play this when you win a championship, like on the podium and everything!” Lando cackles, having finally got enough breath back in him to form sentences. Max gives Lando a mild glare, although this doesn’t seem to faze the Brit in the slightest.

“Don’t even dare to try, or I’m telling George you’re the one who ate his last macaron.”

“Joke’s on you, he _ gave _ me his last macaron!”

“Why are you doing this to me?” Max asks miserably, throwing his hands up in the air, and a nearby mechanic snickers, before putting the tyre they were carrying down and walking back towards the garage entrance.

“Aw, you know you love us.” Daniel says, putting his hand over Max’s other shoulder and leaning in close to his friend.

“I’m seriously reconsidering my choice of friends.” 

Lando puts his hand over his heart in mock horror, putting the other up to his forehead and looking askance in a display of overdramatics. 

“How could you, Max? I thought we were best friends forever!”

“Wait, you guys had macarons?” Charles asks, catching up to the conversation. He hasn’t had a macaron in so long, and he wishes so badly he could have one, he used to get them after all the races as a kid-

“Yeah, we got them after the Paul-Ricard race.” Lando says, losing his train of thought and blinking confusedly at Charles. “We would have taken you with us if you had told us you liked macarons!”

Charles tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. That was in France, six or seven races ago, and now they were in Singapore, and the drivers would not be going back to Europe until after Abu Dhabi. He tries to console himself, saying that Ferrari probably would not have let him eat a macaron ( _ delicious, sweet macaron _ ) anyway, but he gets hit with a sudden pang of want and feels tears nearly come to his eyes.

_ Stop it, Charles! It is stupide to get so emotional over a sweet! _

Max must see his sadness, because he shrugs Daniel off and wraps him in a hug. 

“Don’t be sad, Charlie, how about we both go to Aix-en-Provence together when the off season starts? You can have as many macarons as you want and we can spend some time together, just the two of us.” Charles does feel fondness in his heart. It is just like Max, to pick up on what he is feeling and try to cheer him up. And it does - the thought of getting to spend some time, just with Max, the picturesque image of eating at a small cafe in the artist town of Aix-en-Provence, and perhaps taking a long walk in the eveningtime - is tempting, and Charles feels his mood lift at the notion.

“You promise?” Charles looks up at Max, perhaps timidly, to find the other looking at him with a soft smile on his face. Max kisses the tip of his nose, as he seems to enjoy doing, and Charles feels red creeping up his face.

“I promise.”

(Charles cries when he eats the first macaron, getting hit by memories of childhood and wondrous kart races, small games of football afterwards, back when everything was so much simpler.

Max embraces him, but doesn’t say anything, and Charles thinks that he knows the feeling.)

(And there starts a tradition, for the off-season; two days at home, with the family, then a week with Max in some nice, quiet town, before heading back to Monaco for the rest of the break.)

(Charles convinces Max to meet the fans who had written the song, because without it none of this would have ever happened. Lando does not end up playing it when Max wins the championship,but he does when he and Max land on the Abu Dhabi podium together. He feels a smile come to his face as he sees Max chase Lando around the paddock, nearly bumping into Carlos and Daniil.

_ Dieu, I love this man. _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde!
> 
> And I am being back! I am so so sorry this has been taking so long, I am promising you that I do mean to finish, I have ideas for atleast a few more chapters. 
> 
> I wanted to do a segment on the Media influence and involvement, but I think I am running out of ideas halfway so I hope the last few ones are good. Also, I am still bad at writing Max, so I am hoping I did him some good this time around. I made sure to include a jealous Charles and some confession scene for you, Shybear_Styles, I hope that you are liking it!
> 
> Malheureusement, my situation is not getting much better - I will not be going into any detailing right now, but I am not thinking that any updates will come faster for some time. Sorry. 
> 
> Stay safe, please!
> 
> Merci à tous!


	6. Five Years is Quite Some Time, My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Year  
> /yir/  
> noun  
> 1.  
> the time taken by the earth to make one revolution around the sun.  
> 2.  
> the period of 365 days (or 366 days in leap years) starting from the first of January, used for reckoning time in ordinary affairs.
> 
> Or; In which five years can change everything
> 
> Warnings for Suicide Ideation. Seriusement, this is quite heavy in a section of the chapter, so please take caution if this will effect you.

**_Where do you think you will be five years from now?_ **

Max blinks up at his school teacher, more than a little confused. Why would she ask a question with such an obvious answer? Shouldn’t everybody be working to fulfill their goal?

And that is what he asks her, incredulously questioning the point of such an exercise when the smiling lady comes to kneel by him. She chuckles, remarking on Max’s ‘young ambition’, and then she says that not everyone knows what they want to do.

This only serves to confuse Max more, because he’s known what he has to be since he was three, and they are all eight, shouldn’t the other kids have started to work towards their goal now? 

The teacher must see the look on his face, because she crouches down by him to get on his eye level.

“Well, Max, since you seem to have it figured out, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Max blinks at her again, because he thought  _ that _ would also be obvious, with how much he misses school for karting.

“Dad says I have to be a Formula One driver. And I like racing, so I’m going to try to get there.”

The teacher’s smile fades a little, Max notices, although he doesn’t necessarily know why. 

_ She must think I can’t do it, _ he decides, and he feels anger rising up in him. He’s had enough people telling him that he’s not going to make it, and he’s going to prove them all wrong one day.

“That sounds like a nice goal, Max.” She says, instead of the expected dismissal of his hopes, but Max doesn’t buy it. She most likely just doesn’t want to tell him straight-out that she doesn’t believe he can do it. “What else do you see yourself doing?”

“What  _ else  _ would I be doing?” He rebukes, trying not to let his annoyance leak through. He can’t get in trouble with the teacher, because then he’d have detention or something, and father would be angry if that made him miss a kart race. Although, this teacher is nice, so he doesn’t think she would get him in trouble that easy.

The teacher looks lost for a second, before she chuckles uncomfortably.

“What do you like to do when you’re not racing? Do you have a hobby, like art, music, or reading?”

“No.” Max says, a little hesitantly, because he’s never even considered doing things other than racing. He remembers that he wanted to art when he was littler than he is now, but dad had told him that all those other things (like friends, he misses being friends with all the other boys on track) were distractions. And then he remembers, “Oh! I like talking to Charlie Eclair!”

The teacher chuckles again, and Max pretends not to see the fond little smile that appears on her face whenever one of them does something ‘cute’. 

“So do you think you and Charlie will be talking in five years, too?”

Sadness fills Max’s heart at the question. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but whenever he looks at Charlie these days the other is frowning at him. He loves Charlie’s smiles, and he knows he must have done something for the other to frown at him the way his mum does after a bad race. Max can’t even talk to him and find what’s wrong; dad won’t let him play football with the others anymore, and he’s not allowed to go say hi before the race, either.

“Probably not. I don’t think Charlie likes talking to me as much as I like talking to him.”

The smile on the teacher’s face drops, and Max is hit by some guilt ( _ useless emotion, why are you here? _ ) because even that ‘so cute’ smile was better than this discomfort.

_ Look, Max, you have gone and done it again. You’re not good enough. _

He feels tears coming to his eyes even as he tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care about the teacher, doesn’t care about Charlie, and doesn’t need anyone or anything else.

_ Don’t cry, Verstappen. Crying is for babies. And babies don’t make it to Formula One. Head down. Chin up. Stand proud. Stand straight. For the love of God, Verstappen, don’t cry. _

He’s not going to cry over this. Not over how he can’t do art, not over how disappointed Anthoine or Pierre look every time he turns them down, and how guilty Max feels when he has to do the same thing at the next race, and definitely not over Charlie.

They are all distractions.

They are all just distractions.

Racing is the only thing that matters.

  
  


**_Where do you think you will be-_ **

Jules looks expectantly at him, waiting for an answer to his question.

_ Where do you see yourself in five years? _

“Euh...racing?” Charles tries, because he knows that there is an answer that his mentor is looking for, but doesn’t exactly know what that right answer is. He’s twelve now, and he will be seventeen in five years - he really doesn’t know what can happen in that time. 

Jules sighs.

“Well, yes, but what else? Who do you see yourself with? What else will you be doing? What major changes will happen?” 

Charles is drawing a blank as another silence occurs again. Jules seems determined to wait until he has an answer to his question, so Charles brushes his hair out of his face and urges himself to think. The race is done, and Pierre and the others (except for Max, but Charles tells himself he doesn’t need  _ him _ ) are waiting for him to play football afterwards.

_ Oh! _

“I hope I’ll still be friends with Pierre,” He starts, finally, hesitantly, and Jules nods approvingly at him. “I think I will want to do something with fashion also- I do like clothes. Perhaps modelling? Or my own line, I know some of the drivers have done things like that. I think I will still be racing with Max, and beating him on the track. And maybe I’ll be in F3 at that point. Maybe even F2! ” He continues, excitement growing in his voice at the thought of being that close to the best of the best. 

Jules smiles, then ruffles Charles’ hair. 

“Good to hear, good to hear. Remember, Charles, racing may be a big part of your life, but it’s not the  _ only _ part of your life.”

\---

Charles is still thinking about the question as he falls asleep that night. One of the things he had told Jules -  _ I will have beaten Max _ \- rings hollowly in his bones. He has tried to convince himself that they were rivals, that he liked being rivals, because Max always acts so high-and-mighty that Charles cannot help but feel a little affronted. 

The truth is that he honestly misses what they used to have; the moments with shy smiles, and Max’s dry humour, and football matches that barely followed any semblance of the rules. It is painted over nostalgically in his head, and in the dark and quiet of his room, he lets himself hope.

Maybe, one day, he and Max can be friends again.

(Five years later, the question echoes in his head as he stands by the bedside of his mentor, and he  _ breaks _ .)

  
  


**_-will be-_ **

“Max!”

The dutchman looks up towards his (best?) friend, who is quickly walking over towards him from his car. The race had been good, and he had clinched a win without too much trouble, but that doesn’t mean Max is not exhausted. 

Still, he knows he will always make time for Charles.

“Hey.” Max greets the other as he exchanges a quick, one-armed hug with the other. Charles smells like a soft mix of lemon and some sort of cinnamon, and Max has no idea how he still manages to do that after a race. The blond doesn’t know when he started noticing small things about the other, like how he sometimes wrings his hands when he’s nervous, or how sometimes a little smile will flit across his face when he finds something mildly amusing, or how he seems so full of life and energy when he’s talking about fashion or something else he loves. 

-And that’s the conundrum, is it not? Max has somehow managed to fall in love with the one person that he can probably never have, and it’s slowly killing him, he’s sure of it. But he can’t step away, because that would tear him apart in a way worse than how he is currently watching and wanting. 

Charles is of light, and radiance, and everything that Max isn’t. He’s driven by his passion, nothing else, and Max - Max couldn’t be more different. He loves racing, he really does, but for him, it’s just how life is. There’s never been anything else, and Max only really feels free when he’s inside that car. 

“Max, are you alright?” Charles asks, concerned, and Max realises that the monegasque has probably been saying something, none of which Max actually heard. 

“Yeah, I’m good, sorry.” Max says, a little embarrassedly, fully conscious of the light blush that has made its way up to his face. Charles is so considerate, with so much kind and caring in him for everyone, and Max melts a little at that kindness being directed towards him. He doesn’t know what to do with the emotions that the brunet next to him inspires, so he just shoves it on a pile in his mind labelled ‘to be processed’ until he’s alone and able to properly have an existential crisis. 

“Euh, actually, I was wondering,” And suddenly Charles is a little shy, a blush settling high on his cheeks. He glances up at Max through his eyelashes, and Max is sure that there’s a blush on his own face because Charles looks incredibly handsome, and  _ Max Emilian Verstappen, did you seriously just think those words _ ?

“Yeah?” 

  
  


**_Where will you be-?_ **

Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. 

_ It’s now or never, Charles. _

It’s now or never because everyone knows that Max will have gone to Formula One next year, so if Charles has any chance of getting what he so desires, he’ll have to do it now, before anyone else gets the chance after Max has gotten famous. He knows about all the potential love interests that show up once you have the spotlight on you - and he doesn’t think he could handle seeing Max with someone else.

“Can I kiss you?” He rushes out, and Max stares at him for a minute, dumbstruck. Charles is just starting to panic, because  _ I’ve overstepped I’ve overstepped I’ve overstepped _ , when-

“S-sure.” 

The brunet can’t believe it for a second, before he feels a sense of elation. He knows that this doesn’t necessarily mean that Max  _ likes _ him, and Charles hates to think that he just agreed for Charles or to satisfy his own curiosity, but relief raises up in him because Max doesn’t seem off-put in the least and he’s taking that as a win.

They meet, and Charles swears that he feels sparks. It’s wonderful, and magical, and when they draw apart Charles finds himself gazing into Max’s eyes. They are still only centimetres apart, and Charles notices suddenly just how long Max’s eyelashes are. A fond smile comes to rest on the Dutchman’s lips, and Charles finds a happy feeling grow in his chest as well. 

Someone awkwardly clears their throat behind the two, and Charles whips around to find Pierre and Anthoine standing there. 

“As happy as we are that you two finally got yourselves together, maybe this is not the best place for that.” Pierre starts awkwardly, and Charles feels his face go entirely red, but his focus shifts when Max tenses next to him. The other’s eyes are glancing around nervously, and his hand has Charles’ locked in a death grip.

“Did my father see?” He asks, a strange sort of panic and fear mixing in his tone, and the younger realises that they  _ are _ still only sixteen, and Max’s father still wields a fair amount of power over him, so if he didn’t approve-

“No, he didn’t, don’t worry. I saw him talking to someone on the phone back inside one of the buildings.” Anthoine placates the blond, and Charles catches his friend’s eye just in time to see his unease. No one in or around the track really liked Jos Verstappen, and Max’s reaction had been rather unsettling. 

The dutchman relaxes against Charles’ side at Anthoine’s reassurance, and mutters a brief ‘sorry you had to see that’ to Charles’ friends. Anthoine just waves it off, and Pierre grabs the other’s hand to start pulling him away, giving Charles a meaningful look as they leave.

_ You better talk to eachother about what this will mean for you, Leclerc. Don’t let this become a product of miscommunication. _

(They do talk about it, when they have gotten inside and are alone.)

“So, are we- are we a  _ thing _ now?” Max says, a little softly, and Charles beams because  _ Max does want this, too! _ Before wasting no time in clarifying that yes, Charles would like to be with Max as more than friends if Max would let him.

They also talk about what it will mean for them that Max is going to Formula One the next year (and Charles is excited for him, a little jealous perhaps, but mostly just proud and ecstatic because that means Max will be the youngest driver ever to start a grand prix). They resolve that they will make sure to keep in communication, to tell eachother about what is bothering them before it ends up driving them apart.

(Charles can only hope that works, because he’s waited so long and he finally has what he wants, he can’t imagine losing it all so soon.)

  
  


**_-five years-_ **

Max stares out across the city view from his hotel balcony, his mind far away from the illuminated setting in front of him. He feels numb - this entire 2018 season has been a failure so far, he’s lost one of his best friends, he’s let Horner and the team down on several occasions - and he’s just  _ done, _ with the pressure and the media and his father and his team, all with a reminder of how he’s failed in every way he looks. Daniel wouldn’t even  _ talk _ to him after this race, and Max knows that he needs some time to cool down, that he will probably approach the younger later, but the thought isn’t comforting in the way it usually is.

He feels himself falling into a still abyss of hopelessness and failure, even as a blanket of numbness settles over him and dulls him to everything else. There’s a sensation of exhaustion in his bones, urging him to give up and just let it all go as he looks down at the ground below him. 

It’s dangerous, he knows, standing here alone when he’s feeling the way he is, sinking into that dark sea of bone-weary fatigue, staring eleven stages down at the cobblestone-patterned ground. Even  _ entertaining _ the thought of what he could do here is peril, and he’s aware he’s not thinking exactly straight right now-

Max can’t make himself care.

_ He’s failed. He’s failed. He needed to prove himself, and he failed. For the first time, someone that wasn’t his father had taken a chance with him, put their trust in him, and he’d failed. He’d failed his father, his teammate, h*ll, the entire team! _

He just wants all of this to be over with. He’s just so  _ tired _ , of constantly having to show that the first win wasn’t a fluke, and then that the second wasn’t luck, and that he really does deserve his seat. He wants to step out from under his father’s menacing presence, stop being ‘that one kid who’s been trained from birth to do this thing, he doesn’t have any passion for it like those other guys do’. He wonders, sometimes, would it finally be enough if he did something drastic, that wasn’t related to racing? Show everyone, in one big shock, that he’s not some ambition-driven robot, by making himself as cold and unfeeling as his heart supposedly is?

It feels like he’s nothing alive left inside him anyway, so what difference would it make?

His failures whisper around him, seeping through his skin and drawing him further from himself with every poisoned word. A sense of detachment settles over the blond, almost like he’s a bystander, witnessing someone else’s life fall apart. He’s waiting and seeing, just an outside observer impassively watching all the drama without being directly involved in it. 

It should scare him, being taken out from himself, but the heavy weighted numbness opens a hole in his stomach. It eats away at any emotion he could have had, leaving him empty and unfeeling. That part of him, the part that has simultaneously been his best confidante and his worst enemy, thinks that this lack of emotion feels rather nice. It’s just- just  _ blank _ , and there’s no pressure or sadness, or wondering  _ when will they decide I’m not worth it? _

“Chéri?” A voice calls out from behind him, and Max says nothing even as Charles comes to stand beside him. The lights of the skyline reflect in the brunet’s eyes as he looks concernedly at Max, and the dutchman has to wonder why Charles is still with him after this dumpster fire of a season. Charles is beautiful, and he’d be able to get anyone he wanted, so why is he sticking by someone as inadequate as Max? He has stuck by Max through all these years, before anyone else gave him so much as a passing glance, and Max can’t help but think that Charles (astounding Charles, who will take the world by storm some day) would be better off without the weight that is Max.

_ I’m not good enough. _

It echoes in his mind, an old and common acquaintance that Max has known for as long as he can remember. He’s never been good enough, and it’s not suddenly like messing up in Formula One will be different then messing up in the kart races. 

And it’s not even just the racing, he doesn’t deserve the people around him either. He doesn’t deserve Daniel, mature, talented, experienced Daniel, as a friend and teammate. He doesn’t deserve the chances that Horner keeps giving him, has kept giving him since he initially f*cked up in Toro Rosso. He’s  _ definitely _ not good enough for Charles, lovely, wonderful, amazing,  _ perfect _ Charles.

“Mon amour, talk to me.” Charles pleads, still getting no response. Max feels a little bit bad for ignoring the other, but maybe Charles will get angry and leave him to be with someone better. Someone without a ton of issues.

_ Ha, like that’d ever happen. _

Charles is better than Max in every way, and that means that the monegasque will not give up on him, even when he definitely should stop wasting his time on Max. The dutchman knows it’s selfish, but he can’t help but be a little relieved that he knows, atleast, one person who will not easily leave him.

The tiny figure of Lewis passes below on a walk with Roscoe, and Max wonders how much he would surprise the champion if he was suddenly down there. Would he stand there and stare, looking up to see the shocked figure of Charles on the balcony? Would he come to entirely the wrong conclusion? Or would he not be able to tear his eyes away from Max, finally doing something completely unexpected by the world? 

Charles must sense the shift in his thoughts, because he grasps Max’s arm and starts to tug him away from the edge of the balcony.

“Come on Max, let’s go inside.”

Max can hear an unease in his voice, and he hates to make Charles feel that way, so he tears his eyes away from the morbid curiosity of the ground below and distantly follows behind his boyfriend into the room. As he walks inside, guilt coils in his stomach - how could he even be  _ thinking _ about doing something like that, while Charles was standing right next to him? He may be broken, but that’s no excuse to break everyone around him, too. 

_ And people call Charlie the drama queen of you two. _ A bitter voice in his head quips, and Max shoves it backwards even as he falls into his bed. He doesn’t know when the whispers of failures stop humming in his ear, but he’s hit in the middle of the night with the realisation of what exactly he was thinking of doing. His breath catches in his throat, and he struggles to keep quiet even as Charles wakes behind him, the brunet’s sweet mutterings replacing the venomous whispers of hours before.

He wakes up the next morning with a faint memory of Charles tucking him in, whispering endearments into his ear, and even though his heart still feels weighed down by unfeeling numbness, he thinks it’s going to be alright. 

Charles walks into the room, a bright smile on his face and eagerly announcing a breakfast, and Max decides that  _ yes, he will be alright. _

  
  


**_Where-_ **

Charles has noticed something recently. 

It’s something about Max, something that he’s never noticed before, and Charles can’t help but wonder why Max tends to rub his knuckles or his wrists when he’s upset. 

So here he finds himself, looking down at Max’s right hand as he idly plays with it. He sees many faint lines of scars, across the palm and the back of the hand, a particular concentration across his knuckles and even a few down the sides of his wrists. 

“Charlie?” Max has paused in whatever he is writing with his other hand, and is looking at the brunet with undisguised concern. Charles says nothing, continuing to hold the comforting warmth of Max’s hands even as his mind whirls. Max glances down at his hand between Charles’, and his eyes widen in realisation. The dutchman opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking unsure in a way that Charles rarely sees.

“You do not have to tell me anything, mon amour. I just need to know you are alright, and that you will come get me when you’re not.”

Charles goes back to fiddling with Max’s hand, missing the fond smile that the other gives him. There’s an uncomfortable rolling in his stomach, and despite what he said, he can’t deny that he is a strange mix of curious and worried. Max shifts a little, allowing the monegasque’s head to come to rest on his lap. He clasps Charles’ hands in his, and smiles reassuringly down at him. 

“I made a promise not to keep anything from you, didn’t I? Besides, it will be good to talk it out with someone.”

Max glances away from Charles, his gaze growing distant as he reminisces. Charles is about to reassure Max again, make it clear that he really doesn’t have to say anything he doesn’t want to, but Max meets his eyes and Charles finds that his words get stuck in his chest. 

Finally, Max begins to talk, keeping a tight grip on Charles’ hand the entire time. 

Pieces fit together in Charles’ head as Max talks about unhealthy outlets for anger and glass broken in clenched fists, walls and windows punched out of anger and frustration, and things start to make a frightening amount of sense. Charles had seen Max punch many things in their karting days -the most notable being the side of his cart, for which Jules had talked to him about respecting the car- and Charles also recalls bandages frequently wrapped around Max’s fists. Sometimes they hadn’t even been wrapped, left open to infection and further irritation. 

Charles runs his fingers over the scars on Max’s knuckles, knowing now that they probably are from broken glass, and he’s scanning his mind for any other things he’s missed. 

“Do they still hurt?” He asks, and Max’s hand tightens around his again. There seem to be small tremors wracking the other’s fingers, irregular in their pattern, and Charles represses the urge to reassure Max - _ again _ \- that he needn’t say anything. He knows the other probably needs to just talk, and put all this weight away from him. 

“No. But-” Max cuts himself off, the shaking of his hand intensifying a little. “-they tend to do strange things when I get nervous or stressed. Usually they just shake, but sometimes they cramp and twinge or just stop functioning properly for a moment. That hasn’t happened since when I was - what, fifteen?”

Max’s hands are really shaking now, and Charles sees that the dutchman has clenched them into fists to minimise the movement. He presses soft kisses on the other’s knuckles, down the scars on his wrists, and eventually Max’s hands relax. Charles is trying to appear calm, so that Max will stay calm, but his head is spinning with all of this new information. 

_ This hasn’t happened since he was fifteen, that’s good. When we were fifteen, we were- _

Something clicks in Charles’ head, and he stops for a minute to look up at Max. He thinks he knows the event that Max is referring to, but he wants so badly to be wrong even though it makes perfect sense for the blond to be nervous after what had happened the weekend before. 

“Was it…?” Max looks askance again, and Charles knows he understands even as the monegasque trails off. The dutchman nods, once, and Charles wraps his arms around the other’s midsection and buries his face into his stomach.

“Oh, mon ange!” He whispers, because for  _ anxiety, _ (which had been partially Charles’ fault, although indirectly) to be bad enough to cause a three-car crash, one that Charles knows Max still feels bad for- 

“I’m sorry.” Max’s voice breaks slightly, and Charles shakes his head furiously. 

“There’s nothing to apologise for, anymore. That was a long time ago, and all three of us are alright.” Charles meets Max’s eyes, and he sees the guilt, and sadness, and despair mixing in the other’s gaze. He brings Max’s hand up again, giving him another kiss on his knuckles. The dutchman tenses for a minute, before he leans down and presses his own kiss onto Charles’ forehead. 

“If you say so, Charlie.”

It becomes a tell, then; rather than his eyes, Max’s hands are Charles’ windows to his soul. And Charles is willing to give him as many small kisses on the knuckles as it takes for those hands to stop shaking.

Nothing can ever change that.

  
  


**_-in five years?_ **

Max fidgets in the lift, waiting anxiously for it to get to where he needed to leave. Today’s race had been eventful, and particularly bad for Ferrari- neither Carlos nor Charles were happy about the lack of communication between their engineers, that had eventually led to them both ending the race early. 

No one had said it out loud, but everyone also knew that this mishap came at the worst time, that part of the season when each race result determined driver standings.

So here Max is, standing in the lift and waiting for it to go up the eight stages to Charles’ room. Lando had come back with him, but Carlos’ room was on stage four and Lando had wanted to check in on his friend. Pierre would be here with him too, but he ended up winning the race and couldn’t get away from the media and everyone else.

Max reaches the door and searches in his pockets for the keycard, fearing for a minute that he had left it inside the room when he was talking to Charles this morning.

“Charlie?” He calls as he unlocks the room and steps inside. “It’s just Max.”

Nothing answers him, the only sound in the flat his own words and the muffled aire conditioner. He knows Charles is inside because his beanie is hung by the door, so his concern spikes as he creeps into the room.

“Schatje, where are you?” Max is starting to get really worried, thoughts of how many different kinds of crazy people who would like to break into an F1 driver’s hotel room echoing in his head. He hasn’t himself experienced anything like that, but he’s heard horror stories from Rosberg about some of 

Lewis’ particularly obsessed fans, and from Seb about those people who had tried to follow him home-

“In here,” comes the reply, and Max turns towards the small kitchen area. There are a few wine bottles on the table, some empty and one half-full, and he walks in just in time to see Charles pour some into a glass and then knock it back in one gulp.

Despite how little he knows about wine, Max is almost entirely sure you’re not supposed to take shots of it. 

“Nope.” Max plucks the bottle out of Charles’ hand, setting it down out of the monegasque’s range and drawing it away when Charles reaches for it. His boyfriend frowns at him ( _ and Max really hates being the target of that frown, but he can’t let Charles do something he’ll regret later) _ before huffing and sitting back in the chair.

“Just leave me to my sorrow, Verstappen.” The dutchman internally winces; Charles’ words are short and clipped, and he’s getting the last-name treatment. The brunet determinedly avoids his gaze, brows furrowed, and Max has to hope that Charles will stop being angry tomorrow.

“How about you come lie down with me instead?” The blond proposes, and Charles doesn’t give a reply. Max asks again, and he can tell the moment when the other’s frustration, mixed with the drink, gets the best of him.

“Maybe I don’t f*cking want to, okay?! Maybe you’re not as comforting as you think you are! Maybe you don’t know how to emotionally connect with people, just like your father! Maybe you’re just making everything worse!” And that stings, but Max tells himself that Charles doesn’t mean it. He knows it’ll echo in his head for a few days, but he can also tell that his boyfriend feels a little bad too, from the way he now looks down, and that’s completely counterproductive to what Max is trying to do. He’s trying to get Charles to  _ cheer up, _ damn it, not feel worse!

“So,” He asks after a minute, “Are you coming?”

“Fine!” Charles snaps, standing up sharply and quickly walking towards the bedroom. Max follows, a little slower, and slides into the side of the bed that is not currently occupied. Charles pointedly turns his back, and Max stares at him for a minute, debating trying to hug the angry driver, but he eventually just closes his eyes.

A pair of arms wrap around him after a little while, and a tearstained face is buried into his bare chest.

“Désolé.” Charles mutters as Max wraps his own arms around the trembling monegasque. Charles starts to cry again, and Max whispers sweet endearments and reassurances in the darkness, and eventually the younger quiets. Max goes to ask him if he’s alright, but looks down to see that he’s asleep. Smiling fondly to himself, he settles in for the night as well.

  
  


**_-do you think-_ **

Charles is Annoyed. With an uppercase ‘A’. He’s walking with Alex, George, and Lando, and they’d normally be joking around except Charles has a black cloud hanging over his head and they all know it. How could he not? This race was supposed to be the race in which he pulled ahead of Lewis, claimed this championship as his own. 

“I can’t believe that Lewis punted you off the track like that, mate.” Lando says, shaking his head. Charles clenches his fists, because he can hardly believe it himself - this is the eight, soon to be nine, time world champion ( _ because of what happened, otherwise that could have been you) _ , and one would think that he’d be better at  _ not f*cking knocking people off the track. _

_ Take a breath, Charles, everyone makes mistakes. _

“I’m sorry everyone. I’m just- really,  _ really _ annoyed at what happened today.” Charles ends up responding, because even though he’s a little angry at Lewis, it was a good result for all three of the others, and he shouldn’t be moping while he’s with them.

“Don’t worry about that,” Alex says from beside George, waving him off, “I know how that feels. It’s not the first time he’s screwed over someone’s race.”  _ And their shot at the championship, _ goes unsaid, but understood nonetheless.

George turns back to grin at Charles too, his half-smile conveying sympathy for the Ferrari driver’s situation.

“It was probably a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a little naffed at him for a while.”

“Yeah.” Lando shrugs. “At this level, it’s going to be more than a little disappointing when a race ends and it’s because of someone else’s carelessness. But it’s good to get that all off your chest so that you can start the next race without any leftover resentment.”

Charles nods, distantly. What Lando is saying is right, and he knows it, but he’s too keyed up right now to care about the next race, and what he really wants to do is go tell Lewis  _ exactly _ what he thinks about the race incident. 

But he can’t do that, so he settles with hearing Alex and George tease Lando about how ‘old and wise’ he’s gotten. It’s a good distraction, until it isn’t, and when the trio asks him if he wants to go eat dinner out in the city with them, he declines. 

He storms up to his hotel room, where Max is waiting for him, and breezes past his boyfriend and to the bed without a word. He knows that he’ll probably feel bad for that later, but he can deal with that when it gets there. Max, thankfully, doesn’t push it, and simply settles in next to him and wraps his arms around Charles.

(And that is probably because Max knows any silence is better then the poison Charles knows he would say if he did try to talk to Max - when he’s angry, it’s probably better not to talk to him at all.) 

The monegasque closes his eyes and resolves to try and look at the issue again tomorrow, when it will be not so fresh.

\---

Charles’ eyes fly open for what seems like the thirtieth time that night, sleep evading him as frustration continues to course through his veins. It’s boiling up in him, raging and frothing within his soul, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with it. Usually, he’d just scream into a pillow until his voice gave out or something, but he’s next to a sleeping Max in a thin-walled hotel, so that probably won’t work.

_ F*cking Max. _

_ 01:34 _ , the clock blinks at him, and Charles resigns himself to a fate of not sleeping and enduring the tired throbbing in his head for the rest of the night.

He turns over again, a scowl coming to rest on his face even as he tries to bury his head under the pillow. 

“Charlie?” It seems he’s woken Max up, because the other’s hand retreats from around him, and the dutchman tiredly rubs his eyes as he wakes up. 

“Sorry, mon chou, you can go back to sleep.”

The exhaustion -or the anger, he’s not sure which- must be clear in his voice, because Max just sits and blinks at him, the concern in his eyes sharpening as he wakes up. Charles doesn’t want Max’s worry, or a late-night talk about anything, he just wants to punch something and then  _ go to sleep, dammit. _ The dutchman, surprisingly, seems to understand this as he takes in Charles’ scowl and still-clenched fists, and just gets up from the bed and starts to put on a shirt.

“What are you doing?” Charles asks, because as tired as he is, he can’t deny that he is curious. Something in his head worries that Max has finally had enough of Charles’ drama, that he’s leaving, but the bigger part of him -the  _ angry _ part of him- spits and responds that he can go if he wants, then atleast Charles will be alone to yell out his frustration.

“Come on, Charles, we’re going on a field trip.” 

Charles would protest, but Max had called him by his name; not Charlie, not schat or liefje, but  _ Charles _ , and that meant he was serious. Charles didn’t want to be angry at his boyfriend too on top of everything else, so he resolved to humor him. 

“This better not be a stupid idea.” He mutters, surely loud enough for Max to hear, but the dutchman doesn’t respond.Then he realises what he’s doing - taking his anger out, on  _ Max _ , when the other is trying to help him. The toxic anger seeping through him whispers that he doesn’t need anyone’s help, and where was this help when Lewis was hunting Charles down to take away his win, but he puts  _ that _ thought out of his head.

_ Maybe I’ll finally be tired enough after this to fall asleep. _

Max grabs his hands and he follows the other to another room down the hall. It’s Carlos’, and surprisingly the light is still on even at this time of the night. Max draws him in for a hug as he knocks and waits for the other to answer, and as angry as Charles is, he can’t deny that Max’s arms feel nice around him. It’s quiet; they are the only two in the hall at this time; and he clenches his fists into Max’s shirt. It’s not good to dwell on something like this, how Lando had said earlier, but all Charles can think about is the points he could have gotten, how he could have claimed the thing he’s been after for all his life if he hadn’t been so rudely removed from the track-

Carlos opens the door and blinks at them, eyebrows rising in slight surprise when he sees Charles, but he steps back after a minute and lets them in. 

“Just wait here for a minute, I’ll go get it set up. Oh!” He pauses on his way in, looking back at them, “Max, don’t look at the desk, that things are secret Ferrari business.”

_ F*cking Ferrari _ . 

Charles can’t stop the thought from coming to his head, even though it hadn’t actually been the strategy’s fault this time, or the car’s, or his, or even Hamilton’s, really. The anger inside him roars, setting its sight on pretty much anything and everything, and nothing is safe from the terrible wrath. 

The Dutchman nods, and he gravitates towards a chair sitting in the main room. Charles follows him after a minute, his tense frame settling in beside Max and trying to curl away from the world. Max gives him a meaningful look, and Charles sighs. The sound is tight, trapped in his chest by whatever is keeping him wound up, and Max shifts to give him some more space.

“I’m just so  _ angry. _ ” The monegasque begins, without preamble. “I could have won that race, I had a really good chance of pulling ahead and making them proud, and then f*cking Hamilton just comes up behind me and pulls the same sh*t he did with Alex two years ago!” It feels like his blood is boiling, the more he talks, and he can hear that his voice is rising, but he doesn’t really care. Maybe if he’s loud enough, the sound will travel and the Mercedes driver himself will hear how he’s ruined another person’s dreams. Charles knows he’s not being fair to Lewis, but the past day had not proved anything if not that life was not fair.

Max’s arms tighten around Charles, but he doesn’t say anything to discourage him, and the contact does calm Charles slightly. Keyword being,  _ slightly. _

“I wish I could just punch ‘im in the face! Tell him what I think about that ‘racing incident!’” Charles throws his hands up, nearly hitting Max in the jaw, and makes a noise of frustration.

“How about you punch this instead? It’s not someone’s face, but I like to think it’s pretty close.” Carlos has returned, and that’s when Charles remembers that he’s not in their room. He’d normally be embarrassed, but his frustration still bubbles in his veins and edges out everything else. He takes the gloves Carlos offers him and eyes the punching bag that the spanish has brought, a little skeptical. Carlos retreats into his bedroom, presumably to give Max and Charles some space to do whatever they like, and Max comes up behind him and slips the gloves over Charles’ clenched fists. 

“Come on Charlie, I promise you’ll feel better after this.”

He reluctantly rises, listening carefully as Max demonstrates to him how to correctly punch, and then gives it a try himself. It does feel good, a strange and liberating sensation from just being able to take out his anger on the bag without hurting anyone or anything.

(Charles knows that he tends to lash out at people when he’s angry, poisoning the air around him with sharp words and undeserved jabs. He knows that there’s a reason that Pierre tends to avoid him a little until he’s calmed down, and Charles really can’t blame him because he really doesn’t deserve the borderline verbal abuse that he’s sure to get at those times. These days, Max often gets the worst of it - mainly just because he’s around Charles the most.)

(And Max is used to it,  _ expects it _ , and whenever Charles thinks this much about it he feels like he wants to cry)

_ (Merde, this might be a problem _ , he thinks to himself)

After a while, they say a good-night to Carlos (Max tells him sternly to get some sleep, which the Spanish just shrugs off), and head back to the room. Max’s trick really must have worked, because Charles falls asleep almost immediately after lying in the bed. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t stop himself from curling into Max this time, maybe it’s because his head is no longer whirling.

(When he wakes up, there’s a small card by his bedside.

It seems like everyone’s written on it, Pierre’s loopy French and Seb’s all-uppercase script easily recognisable. There’s even a short ‘next time, kid’ from Kimi and a ‘sorry mate, tires slid and I crashed into you. You can still do it, the season isn’t over yet!’ from Lewis. As Charles reads the messages from all the others, he feels a small smile come to rest on his face. He’ll treasure this, for sure.

Then he sees it, a small message in Max’s slightly messy hand-writing. It’s encircled in a design, reminding Charles that Max had been more free in showing Charles his drawings lately, and the criss-crossing, swirling pattern is just so  _ Max _ that Charles has to take a moment just to admire it.

_ You’ll do it next time, Charlie. You’re an amazing driver and I cannot wait until you win a championship and show the world what I already know. You bounce back from mistakes and troubles, and I know that you will come through this a better driver. Love you, _ then a small heart, _ and come find me in the kitchen whenever you wake up. _

And, as he gets up and puts on a shirt, he finds himself believing that he can.

_ It’s not over yet. _ )

  
  


**_Five years ago, I was-_ **

Elise Willems never expected to run into one of her old students at a store. She’d heard of it happening, of course, but in her fifteen-odd years of teaching at the same school in Bree, she’s never actually seen one of her students at the grocery store.

Or if she has, they had ducked out of her view before she had a chance to recognise them. That still doesn’t change the fact that she hadn’t been prepared to see an old student, much less one that was a celebrity. She didn’t have a doubt that he would make it where he wanted, but she didn’t expect to see him  _ after _ it happened.

Max Verstappen blinks back at her, nearly unrecognisable from the hat and sunglasses now perched on his head. The brunet standing next to him analyses Elise as Max tries to remember where exactly he’d seen her. Elise remembers fondly that the kid had never really been good at names - but that also brings back the memory of that troubled child, focused on one thing and one thing only; not because  _ he _ wanted to, but because his  _ father _ had wanted him to. 

(She remembers that time the head of school had wanted them to ask the kids of what they planned to do later, and her surprise to discover that this young child -who had already concerned her, with his lack of friends in the class- had zero interests aside from what his father told him he had to do. She remembers how when his father had come to pick him up, his face would fall, before fixing itself into a neutral look, and how he’d react the exact opposite way for his mother.

She definitely remembers pulling the mother aside one time, and expressing her concern for her son, and how the woman’s face had soured at the mention of her ex-husband. Elise had been told that Max lived with his mother, but that there was nothing anyone could do while Max was away with his father.)

Next to Max, the brunet settles on an amicable smile; but Elise can see the wary look he regards her with. She’s seen this look before - from nervous kids that had been used to looking for the worst possible scenario in everything. She tries to look non-threatening, but it’s clear that Max’s surprised silence is unnerving his companion.

“ _ Juffrouw _ Elise? Is that you?” Max finally stutters, finally placing her face, and Elise distinctly notes that he’s talking in english rather than flemish. The person Max is with relaxes, something in the blond’s tone allaying his fears. 

_ How interesting. _

“Max. How have you been?” The teacher responds, also in english, giving a slight nod of greeting. Max fumbles out an answer, glancing anywhere except at Elise, and she decides that he really hasn’t changed a whole lot since he was eight. The brunet next to Max chuckles a little, grasping his hand, and Max looks down, blushing slightly.

“ _ Charlie! _ ” Max protests, and Elise’s eyebrows raise. That name sounds familiar, especially coming from Max, and then she remembers.

“So this is the famous Charlie Eclair?”

Max sputters, going pink, and the other one is in hysterics. Elise feels a smile come to rest on her face - despite his embarrassment, Max is looking at his friend with an incredibly fond look on his face. Actually, he seems happier in general, and Elise is always glad to see her students doing well. 

(She also has years of experience at watching kids with crushes stumble around eachother, and she’s willing to bet that these two are either together or dancing around eachother the way kids their age tend to do.)

“ _ Charlie Eclair?! _ Max, is that seriously how you introduced me?!” Elise feels a little bit bad for teasing Max as he puts his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. Charlie Eclair - she’s sure that isn’t his actual name - gathers himself after a minute, before turning back to her.

“My name is actually Charles Leclerc, nice to meet you, Madame. I’m Max’s-” and here he quickly looks at Max, whom gives him a slight nod, “-boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m one of Max’s former schoolteachers.” Elise responds, without missing a beat.

That prompts Charles to ask how Max was in school, starting a conversation which is basically Elise and Charles teasing Max for twenty minutes. Both the younger boys leave with smiles on their faces, and Elise is sure she’s got a matching one on her face. 

_ Well, _ Elise thinks as she picks out her own groceries,  _ I guess I have something to tell my husband about when I get home. _

  
  


**_Where was I-?_ **

  
  


_ i’ll be home a little late _

_ max is having a crisis (13:02) _

_ Max has a lot of crisises. Call me when you are heading back, okay?(13:02) _

_ *****crises _

_ okay _

_ love u Chili🧡 (13:04) _

_ Igualmente, my little muppet. (Read, 13:06) _

Lando Norris smiles at his phone, before pocketing it and turning back to his friend. 

“Right mate, what’s bothering you?” Max gives him a distraught look, taking off his cap and running his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t know what to do for our anniversary!” The dutchman collapses back onto the restaurant seat, and Lando heaves a sigh of relief that they’re in the corner and away from prying eyes. “I’m sure Charlie’s got something absolutely amazing planned and I don’t even know what to get him!”

“Whoa, hold on.” Lando can already feel a bit of a headache coming on, maybe Carlos is rubbing off on him, “Isn’t your anniversary in like two months? And isn’t this your sixth or seventh year being together?”

“It’s our eighth anniversary! That’s why this one is so important!” Lando doesn’t really know why Max is stressing this much over that day. For his own anniversaries, he and Carlos just prefer to take a day to themselves and go out for icecream or a movie or something - although, he and Carlos haven’t been together  _ nearly _ as long as Max and Charles have. Still, Lando doesn’t think it makes  _ that _ much of a difference.

“Max, it’s  _ Charles _ . You could get him a card saying ‘happy eighth’ and he’d be fine with it.”

Max gives him an unimpressed look.

“Okay, okay, fine!” Lando rolls his eyes, before trying to think of what Charles would like. “I don’t know, just give him a drawing or something. And chocolate. You can’t ever go wrong with chocolate.”

Max’s eyes light up, and he takes out a pencil and begins to scribble on one of the paper towels at the table. Lando spends the rest of lunch giving his opinion on various iterations of a painting that Max is planning to create for Charles. They decide on a strange pattern thing that Lando doesn’t really understand, but apparently Charles likes puzzles, so it should be fine.

\----

“Our friends are idiots.” Daniel announces, a week later, as he walks into Lando’s motorhome. They’d agreed to meet there whenever everyone finished with media for the night, and so far only five of the drivers had arrived.

“Which friends? I can think of a lot of people who fit that description.” Pierre drily asks from where he’s seated, playing some idle card game with Alex. The thai greets Daniel with a wave, before casting his gaze back to the cards. 

“Who do you think? The two who somehow turned an anniversary celebration into a competition!” Daniel settles on the couch next to his fellow McLaren driver, bumping his shoulder lightly in greeting. Lando turns to look at Daniel from where he’s playing some video game, pausing whatever is on the screen to incredulously look at the elder. 

“They’re doing  _ what now? _ ”

“They’ve always been like that, haven’t they?” Alex asks, putting his cards down and also turning into the conversation. “Turning everything into a contest?”

“Yes.” Pierre puts down his cards also and leans back, sinking into the sofa. “Yes, they have.”

Lando shrugs.

“Atleast we know they’ll both have a great time.”

\-----

Max can’t wait. He bounces lightly on the platforms of his feet as he waits for Charles to finish changing and come outside, anxiously clutching his keys in his hand. It has been a wonderful day, with a fair amount of lazing around and ice cream involved - Charles has gotten him a little photobook, which he had filled with pictures hunted down from news articles and various different parents of old track mates. It’s filled with smiles, of Max and Charles and all of the others, and Max knows he will keep it in his heart for a long time.

He really hopes Charles will like his gift as much as Max likes Charles’. 

Then the door opens, and Charles steps out. He’s dressed nicely, of course, and Max offers him an arm to link as they walk out to the car. The Monegasque takes it, and Max has to quell the nervous flutter in his heart. They walk to the car, playfully bantering about who gets to drive  _ (‘I won the last two races, Charlie!’ ‘Ah, mon amour, but who won the one before that?’) _

Max does end up driving in the end, and in retaliation Charles plays ‘Super Max’ the entire ride. The dutchman is completely red by the end, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat because Charles is laughing and that sound makes Max’s heart soar.

They get to the small restaurant, and Max takes his boyfriend (for now, hopefully not for much longer) to the reception to claim their reservation. Max has booked them a small, private chamber in the back of the restaurant, so hopefully he will be able to do what he wants to without worrying about the press. The room is small, with a lot of space to walk around and relax, with a neat little table in the middle. They both sit, and Max can feel the moment approaching him.

_ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- _

He takes a breath. Somehow, this is giving him more anxiety then his first race in Formula One. 

“Max?” Charles is looking at him, concerned, and Max realises he’s probably spaced off while worrying. The waiter is there, too, and Max blushes slightly as he realises he’s probably been asked a question.

“What will you take, Sir?” The waiter asks again, politely, and Max glances over the carte, scanning for something he can tell the person.

“Just….euh, what he’s having, please.” Max finally stutters out, and the waiter gives him an unimpressed look before asking Charles what he will take. Charles gets the man to smile, smoothly asking him about different plates and making small talk with the waiter. Max takes the opportunity to get his wits back about himself. 

_ Calm down, Verstappen. Breathe. Breathe. _

When he comes back to himself, the waiter had left and Charles was staring at him with a look that can only be described as  _ hungry. _

“Are you sure it’s the food you want to eat? Or me?” Max quips, and then chuckles as Charles grows quickly flustered. Charles eventually whacks him on the arm, and they fall into quick banter. The package Max has hidden under his jacket - he will always thank Dan for making him buy one two sizes too big - burns against his heart and he knows that he has to do it  _ now _ , before the moment disappears. 

“Charlie?” He asks, and something must have changed in his tone because Charles’ rapt attention is suddenly on him, bright eyes looking up at him with a focused gaze.

“Yes, mon cœur?” 

_ Come on, Max. Deep breath in, and- _

  
  


**_Five years ago, where-?_ **

Charles looks up at his boyfriend, trying not to let his worry show on the surface. Max’s expression has taken on a more serious tone, unlike the one that they just had when laughing and joking, and Charles’ mind paints three thousand scenarios as the silence continues.

_ Is something wrong in his family, with Sophie or Victoria?  _

_ Did something happen with one of the other drivers? _

_ Is he going to break up with me? _

These thoughts sink their treacherous claws into Charles’ heart, and he holds his breath as he waits for the response.

“I have something for you.”

And Charles has to stop himself from heaving a sigh of relief, because  _ is that all? _ He’s about to ask Max why he scared him so much over something like that, but there’s something unfamiliar in Max’s gaze as he draws a package from his coat, and the hand that isn’t holding the parcel is worrying at the other hand’s knuckles, and Charles realises that Max is  _ nervous. _

So he smiles and accepts the gift, turning it over in his hands a few times before attempting to open it. It is neatly wrapped, and the paper is clearly handmade - Charles doesn’t know  _ where _ Max got the time to make it, but he’s touched nonetheless and takes care not to tear it as he unwraps the gift. 

What he finds is a plaque of sorts, made of many tiny squares. There’s one block, in the corner, that is left open, and Charles realises that this is a sliding puzzle. He’s loved these since he was a child, and he tells Max as much, a wide smile splitting his face as he looks at his boyfriend. 

This one is also clearly handmade, sculpted by Max’s careful hand and perhaps with Daniel’s help, and that only makes it better. 

Charles grabs Max and draws him in for a tight hug, giving him a quick kiss. Max looks back at him, and there’s love gleaming in the other’s eyes, which he’s sure is mirrored in his own. Max could have gotten him a card and he would have been happy, because the day itself had been enough of a present, but Max wouldn’t be Max if he didn’t bring something that blows Charles away.

He looks back at the board, before he realises something.

“Is there a reference, mon ange?” He carefully ventures, because he really doesn’t want to undermine how much he likes the gift, but he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to solve it without knowing what the picture is supposed to be first.

“That’s the surprise.” Max shyly answers. “If you look at the back, there should be a number on each square. And then when it’s done you can turn it over and see what it says.”

And indeed, when he does, there they are - small, neat numerals carved into the wood, spanning from one to twenty-nine. Charles, for one, cannot wait to solve this puzzle, but he sets it aside after a minute and settles down for the rest of his dinner with Max. 

\-----

“Lando!” Max cries, flopping dramatically onto Lando’s hotel room couch. 

“Max!” Lando replies, flopping onto the couch - and thereby on top of Max - as well. The dutchman shoves him off, and Lando lands on the floor with an ‘oof’. Daniel, who is also in the room, laughs at him, and Lando scowls at his teammate as he brushes himself off. 

“Do you think he’s  _ solved _ it yet?!” Max asks, anguished, and Daniel rolls his eyes before giving Max a little admonishing pat on the head. 

“Why don’t you ask  _ him _ , Maxy?” Daniel looks at him curiously, propping his elbows up on a nearby low table, and Max lays back down with a sigh. 

“I  _ can’t _ , Dan. I want to wait for him to bring it up first.”

“What’s this? Max waiting for someone else to broach the subject? I’ve truly witnessed a miracle!” Daniel lets out a chuckle at Lando’s comment, and Max whacks him good-naturedly. “Seriously though, mate. You’ve got to give him time. It’s been four days and it takes me half an hour to solve a nine-piece one of those, can’t imagine trying to do a thirty-piece one.”

“I think that’s just you, Lando.” Daniel points out, and Lando gasps as Max smiles at his friends. All jokes aside, Lando is right - and Max knows that whether Charles wants to say yes or not, he will tell Max straight. He hopes. 

\----

Charles is sitting in his driver room, relaxing a bit before everything kicks back into a high gear. He’s fiddling with the puzzle a little, because  _ damn Max really made this a good one _ , when the last piece finally slides into place. One through twenty-nine, all nicely arranged right to left, top to bottom, and in numerical order, and Charles smiles from the satisfaction of having completed a hard puzzle. 

He would be lying if he says he was not just a little curious as to this surprise message while he was solving the puzzle, and there were a few times he nearly cracked and asked Max what it was. But now he’s finished, and he takes a quick glance to the clock to confirm he has some time before turning it over.

He blinks. Reads it once. Then again.

“Mon Dieu!” 

Carlos concernedly pokes his head in at the monegasque’s exclamation, and Charles just points mutely to the puzzle, speechless. Carlos comes over to look at it, curious, before he chuckles and draws back. 

"Lando told me that Max was planning to propose." It's said casually, like Charles' world hasn't just experienced a system error in the past thirty seconds, and the brunet can only gape at the elder. 

"You  _ knew?!" _ Charles strangles out, finally, and Carlos just snickers a bit at his reaction, before giving him a nod. 

"Si, Charles. I knew. And so did Daniel, Lando, Alex, George, and possibly Pierre."

"How?" Charles asks incredulously, still unbelieving that everyone has somehow managed to keep this quiet from him, for however long this puzzle had taken to make.

"Let us just say that you were not the only one worrying unnecessary about this anniversary." Carlos winks at him, then leaves, throwing over his shoulder that Charles should talk to Max and that he would stall Binotto for him. 

Charles doesn't have time to respond before Carlos is gone, and he looks down at the completed puzzle. 

_ Marry me, Charlie? _ Is intricately written across the center, and there are many small images - his Ferrari, what looks like a portrait of him, Pierre, and Max, etched onto wood, and a small trophy - On the sides, and Charles feels a fondness growing in his heart.

\----

_ yes (9:05) _

Max raises his eyebrows at Charles’ text, before scrolling up and seeing if he could have any context as to what ‘yes’ meant. Alex bumps him in the shoulder, then, bringing Max’s attention back to the conversation he was having with Pierre, Daniil, and Alex before the message had arrived. 

“Sorry, Charlie’s texting me.” He quickly explained, glancing back to his phone.

_ What? _ He sends back, hoping that Charles will give him some sort of an explanation before Horner and Marko arrive. The phone buzzes again a minute later, and Max quickly unlocks his phone as Alex peers curiously over his shoulder.

_ meet me by your garage now (9:07) _

_ v1 (9:08) _

“Ooh, Max is going to  _ get some _ !” Alex teases, laughing, and Max smacks him lightly on the shoulder as he tries to figure out what Charles is trying to say.

“Hey, Pierre?” He calls the Frenchman over, “What is ‘v1’?”

“Euh…” Pierre looks over the messages for a minute, “I think he means ‘Viens’, which means he wants you to go where he is. I think. I don’t really understand the text abbreviations he uses sometimes.”

“Guys?” Daniil warns from the far corner, “Marko and Horner are coming.”

_ Damn it! _

Max looks down at his phone, before looking back up at the garage, contemplating what he should do. On one hand, Horner and Marko would probably be extremely annoyed if he was late to the team meeting, but it sounds like Charles had something important to tell him-

“Go ahead, we’ll cover for you.” Alex says, giving him a small smile as he switches to a more serious mood. Daniil nods from where he’s keeping an eye on the approaching men, giving him a small glance, and when Pierre also gives him the go-ahead that’s all he needs.

_ I’ll be there in a second. _ He sends back, before grabbing his cap and running out of the garage. He can hear Horner asking where he is behind him, and Alex stutters out something about Max not finding a clean shirt. Max would be surprised if Horner believed him, but right now he’s focused on finding Charles.

_ im outside by the left (9:10) _

Max spots his boyfriend just as he receives the message, and pockets his phone. He grabs Charles’ hand and takes him into a secluded niche in the wall, pulling him into a hug.

“What’s wrong, schatje?” 

“N-nothing! I’m sorry I made you worry!” Charles stutters out, blushing. He pulls something from behind his back, and it takes Max a second to realise that it’s the wood puzzle.

_ Oh my god. _

The dutchman thinks he knows what that first ‘yes’ had meant (or he’s hoping, he’s hoping so  _ badly _ -) but he has to check - if only to prevent a misunderstanding.

“Does this mean….?” He trails off, and it hits him suddenly; if he’s right, then it means that Charles really is serious about them, is willing to take a gamble that may change their lives for the sake of being together. Charles nods, shyly, turning his head up to meet Max’s eyes. The blond is suddenly taken by the need to hear those words, to know that he’d proved himself, that someone wanted  _ him _ because, in their eyes, he was  _ good enough to be chosen- _

“Say it.” He whispers, and he’s startled by his own intensity, “Say it!”

Charles looks caught off-guard, and Max doesn’t blame him. He knows he’s probably acting a little strange right now, but for some reason he needs to hear it like he needs air. Then Charles takes a breath and smiles, tears glimmering in his eyes.

“Yes. Yes, I will marry you.”

And Max is crying then, leaning into Charles’ embrace and surely wetting the other’s red jacket with his tears. He doesn’t know where all of these emotions are coming from, because he’s feeling relieved and euphoric and  _ so incredibly happy _ that it’s all spilling out in one big flood. Charles is sobbing lightly too, he finds, and he soon feels tears wetting his hair as they hold eachother.

“We’re going to be husbands!” Charles says softly, reverently, like he can hardly believe it. Max can hardly believe it either - it’s been a long ride, and they’ve both made it so far. 

“We’re going to be husbands.” Max says back, and settles comfortably into Charles’ embrace.

When Max goes back into the garage, he feels giddy with delight, and not even a scolding from Horner and Marko can wipe the wide smile off his face. Pierre and Alex both interrogate him after the Quali, with Daniil observing from the side, and he feels like he’s flying when he tells them he’s going to marry the love of his life. Alex blinks in shock, and Pierre does a spectacular double-take.

Daniil raises his glass of water with a small ‘cheers’, and then they are all congratulating him.

_ (Eight months later, on a chilly day in December, two lives collide, and already-intertwining fates grow ever closer.) _

**_Who would have thought, five years ago, that this is where I would be?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde! Or perhaps I should say bonsoir, it is quite late in time of posting this. 
> 
> May I just be starting with the statement that I am so happy that Grosjean is okay, I am still reeling back from that crash! And the end-of-season race was quite boring, or maybe I was just being tired while watching it, but congrats to Hamilton on the Seven championship! Quick note also, even with all the changes that happened in last two months (Checo to Red Bull, Tsunoda to Alpha Tauri) I may not always include them because it interferes in my plans, so I am sorry for the break in realisticness(?). Also Mazepin, because I am not liking him very much at the moment.
> 
> I hope you all are liking the chapter, it took a lot of time editing it because my editor was not able to be doing this one for me, so I tried to pay more attention and go through it by myself. Sorry in advance!
> 
> If you are wanting to know what a wood puzzle is looking like, here is a link; https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT6KPvaW3_kMh7HvbpzEmzE6yq-WXE7S1QURQ&usqp=CAU
> 
> Also! In Monaco, we do not do field trips, I have done my first one here in the United-States! It is so interesting, to go somewhere with your schoolmates for a day or longer!
> 
> Thank you always for sticking to this book, I do still want to finish it, but it is taking longer than anticipated.
> 
> Stay safe, please!
> 
> Merci à tous!


	7. Letters From No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' heart jumps in his chest and his breath stutters for a minute. They are looking for him. 
> 
> _They are looking for him._
> 
> _THEY ARE LOOKING FOR HIM!_
> 
> Or; the near-medieval times Alternate Universe that no one asked for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warnings for homophobia and sexism, along with mentions of yelling at and one count of hitting a child. I think you can tell where this going to go.

The first one is passed to him at the market. Charles turns away from his basket for one minute to pay for an extra tomato, and when he turns back there’s a fancy piece of cream-coloured paper on top of his apples. He has no clue who would have put a letter in a twelve-year-old’s basket, so he looks around for a minute before finishing up his list and walking to a secluded corner to open it. He buzzes with a strange mix of worry - why would they put it into his basket, rather than go to his house - and excitement -  _ oh my god, _ he just got a secret letter - as he takes a breath and breaks the small wax seal.

_ Dear Charlie, _ It starts, and he almost crumples it up right there, because there’s only one person to date who has called him Charlie, and he doesn’t want to talk to  _ him. _ Charles has made the mistake of being friends with the crown prince once, and as much as Pierre insists that Max wasn’t trying to act superior, that his dad told him to say what he said, Charles doesn’t think he could stand being looked down upon as ‘just the baker’s son’ again. 

Especially not from Max, who meant (means) so much more to him then the blond could (can) ever imagine.

Besides, it is practically Pierre’s  _ job _ to defend Max - Charles actually met the prince because his best friend is growing up to be a crownsguard - an elite soldier tasked specifically with protecting a member of the royal family - and thus has known Max since they were even younger than they are now. 

A commotion at a nearby stall draws attention and he shakes off his thoughts, paper still clutched lightly in his hand. He recognises the people standing there as soldiers, part of the castle's regiment. One of them asks the stall-keep if he has seen someone who looks like the prince recently, and the terrified man tremblingly shakes his head. 

(Even at the age of twelve, Charles knows that it is never ideal to tell the King’s guard that you do not have an answer for him - the man is famous for his temper, and although no one calls him cruel they are equally reluctant to call him caring towards the citizens.)

_ What, they are searching for Max? Why would he not be there at the castle? _

The regiment captain moves on to the next vendor, and amid Charles’ confusion he realises that he has to make a choice.

The next moment, there is one less person in the quickly-dissipating market crowd, and when the regiment captain comes to that corner all she finds is a lone tomato.

  
  


Charles is yelling at himself in his head even as he sprints from the marketplace. He knows his hasty exit probably looked suspicious, and the odds of someone not recognising him in this part of town are pretty low. The bakery that uncle Jules and his father run is popular, as are Charles’ own pastries.

He can’t stop from glancing back every few steps, just to make sure that there is absolutely no one one his tail, but once he gets to the nearby wood he relaxes a bit. After hanging the grocery-bag on a branch, he hoists himself up into a tree and sits among the leaves. He opens the letter again - it’s a little crumpled, both from his tight grip as he ran and the wind-caused fluttering. 

_ Dear Charlie,  _

_ (Dated, 17th of March, Year 107 After the Awakening) _

_ This is Max. First of all, I’m sorry. I think I really hurt you last winter at that thing, I promise I really didn’t mean to. I don’t ever want to hurt you on purpose, and I hate that I did. _

Charles huffs. A lot of good  _ that _ apology was, a full four months afterward. Charles remembers penning his own share of letters, trying to reach back out to Max, full of perhaps minor heartbreak and a whole lot of ‘what was that, Max? Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça?!’ but all he had received in return was a crushing silence. Eventually he had stopped trying. 

_ Pierre confronted me yesterday and asked about some letters. Apparently you sent a lot of them. I’m not lying when I say not a single one reached me. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me after what happened, and I’m so damn sorry that it took me so long to pen one to you. _

Charles sits back, hard, and blinks. That actually makes a surprising amount of sense, more so than Max just cutting him off out of nowhere; especially since he has a pretty good idea of why none of Charles’ letters may have reached Max. A part of him wonders if Max is making up something to try and get back into Charles’ favour, but he honestly doesn’t need the graces of a  _ mere baker’s son _ that badly, even if Charles is the best young baker in the province. 

Also, Charles is pretty sure that Max wouldn’t bother with lying to Charles - even if he just did need Charles’ favour, the younger wasn’t really in a position to refuse much of anything to the king’s son.

A little bit of hope starts to claw up through the mild disbelief that he has harbored while reading the letter, but Charles tamps it down quickly. He hasn’t finished with what Max wants to say to him, and if you fool him twice, shame on him.

_ I don’t think this letter will go through either if I try and send it through the post-person, since clearly this is more than just a mix-up if none of your letters got through, so I think I’m going to try and give this one personally. I still remember the way to the bakery, you know. Your street is where my mind wanders when I’m lonely. _

A little cheese-filled, but still enough to leave Charles blushing. He doesn’t remember Max being this smooth in person, and he has a sneaking suspicion that someone may have helped with certain parts of this letter - perhaps Carlos, or maybe Max’s sister?

The feeling disappears and his heart stutters as he reads the next part.

_ I’m going to try to get out of the palace for a day. If you are reading this, I’ve succeeded in atleast the getting out part. If I don’t make it to our spot by sunset, assume that I’ve failed in keeping hidden for a day and forget about this. I have not breathed a word of this to Pierre or Alex (aside from telling them I’ve not been kidnapped or something), they would get into way too much trouble. If this really is the last time I’m able to talk to you guys, tell them I said that they were the best friends a guy could ask for and that I looked forward to having them as my crownsguard. Tell Carlos about the letter before you dispose of it, he’s a good friend of mine and the next head of intelligence for royal affairs and he might be able to steer attention away from you and your family. And if I don’t get to see you, please know that you are always in my thoughts, have always been in my thoughts since the first time we met. You’re my best friend, Charlie, and this risk is completely worth it to me.  _

_ I hope to see you soon, _

_ Max. _

Charles is suddenly hit by the gravity of what Max is doing, along with the realisation that somewhere along the line the king has stopped allowing Max to exit the palace, with or without guards. Max has written out a full goodbye in the piece of paper Charles now holds in his shaking hands, and a feeling of doom is looming at the edge of his thoughts. The way Max is talking - Charles doesn’t want to know what the prince imagines may happen to him if someone’s able to prove he left the palace grounds.

All Charles can do is slowly climb out of his tree, then take the groceries and apprehensively make his way home to wait. 

  
  


The sky is just starting to turn orange when Charles enters the clearing. His hair is still messed from walking through the arduously-constructed bramble barrier, and he takes a calming breath before looking around. He has a small basket with him, because the only way he was able to convince Lorenzo to catch his evening duties at the bakery was by taking the other’s job of reading over and finding the sum total of what ingredients will be needed for tomorrow’s breads and pastries. 

A quick glance around shows that Max is not here.  _ Yet, _ he reminds himself, because although he’s been preparing himself in the event that the other  _ does _ get caught, he is hoping for all he is worth that Max will make it safely. 

Resigning himself to waiting, Charles finds himself moving to his old spot by their blueberry bush. He remembers summers, sat by this bush with Pierre and Anthoine and Carlos and Alex and  _ Max _ , and how one time he’d taken some home and baked a surprise for everyone-

The sun creeps lower in the sky, and each moment passes by like it’s an eternity. Charles is jittery - he has been since this morning - and he can barely concentrate on the numbers he’s supposed to be computing.

Then Max comes crashing through the brambles, and Charles is only given a minute to process what is happening before the prince has darted behind the very same bush Charles is sitting by. Not even a minute after, the regiment captain follows, her sword drawn. Charles can only sit and gape at her, his paper fluttering to the ground. 

“Madame?” He finally asks, after she has looked around. The regiment captain looks him over, before one of her counterparts puts a hand on her shoulders and she steps back, allowing him to come crouch by Charles. He smiles gently at Charles, and the brunet is sure that would have disarmed him a bit if he truly hadn’t known that the person they are looking for is right here. 

“Bonjour.” Charles’ eyes widen, but this time in a sort of pleasant surprise. Outside of Pierre, Jules, and his family, he doesn’t get many people speaking French to him here. He knows that Max knows French, but the other has yet to attempt speaking French with Charles. The French-speaking community in this area is pretty close - and now that Charles thinks about it, this guy does look slightly familiar.

The man must see his expression, because he chuckles. 

“Je m’appelle Jean-Éric, mais je me fais appeler Jev. Tu es le filleul de Jules Bianchi, n’est-ce pas?” 

“O-oui.” Charles can only stutter out, because the name put the face in place and this guard happens to be one of Jules’ best friends-

“Je m’appelle Charles.” He finally offers, because his surprised silence probably makes him look more guilty with every second it goes on. He figures it wouldn’t hurt anything to offer his name, seeing as this person (Jev, he reminds himself) already seems to know of him.

“Enough of this. Boy, did you see the prince come through here?” The regiment captain, clearly impatient, cuts in. She steps closer to the pair, and although Jev's face twists in displeasure, he makes space for her. She towers over Charles, and he has to hold himself from shrinking back. 

"N-non, I do not think so. I am sorry. " Charles holds his breath, terrified, as the captain mulls over his answer. It seems like she is looking right through him, and he's almost completely sure that the charade is up and they are both going to get in trouble.

The captain narrows her eyes at Charles' nervousness, and Charles braces for the questioning, but then she sighs and takes her helmet fully off. The third soldier, who up until now has been silent, relaxes from where he's keeping look-out.

"Well, Jean, I guess I can't fault the boy for running away." She looks at Jev, and he smiles softly at her before taking off his own helm. He darts a look at the third man, who just puts up his hands and turns away. 

"You two do what you want." Is all the third guy says, seemingly disinterested.

"Thanks, Kimi." Jev says, "Don't worry, Petra. I'm sure he's alright."

There's a fondness in his tone as he talks to her, and there's a matching love in the look she is giving him. Putting that together with how the third -Kimi- had needed to reassure Jev, Charles thinks that maybe this squadron would understand the situation between himself and Max.

Then something rustles off in the woods, and the familiarity disappears as the captain puts her helmet back on. With a nod at Charles, she is gone, and Jev gives the boy a quick wink before he, too, disappears into the foliage. Kimi follows close behind, and Charles is left in the empty clearing once again. 

The bush rustles, after a few minutes, and Max tumbles out and sends Charles’ now-forgotten papers flying. His golden hair is messed up, and there’s twigs and blueberry juice all over the light robes he's wearing. There's actually a little bit of juice on his cheek, and before Charles can think about it he's raised his hand and wiped it off.

"Er…" Max blinks and looks at Charles in surprise. The younger feels his face flush, and he stammers out something about blueberries and stains.

"...hi." Charles finally settles on, looking away shyly. His cheeks are still burning red, and he's almost completely sure he's scared away Max, but then an honest-to-god  _ giggle _ brings him out of his thoughts. 

"Hi." Max responds, his hand gravitating up to his cheek and a small smile settling on his face, "It's been a while, Charlie."

\--

The second one is delivered through Pierre. 

His best friend, having finished with whatever ‘training’ he has to do, stops over by the bakery for a little bit before he goes back to his house since Charles is also done with his baking. They have a wonderful evening, talking about whatever crosses their minds and generally just messing around, and Charles is really happy in that moment that he has a friend like Pierre, to whom he can tell anything and everything, and who he can just be himself around without any worries.

The elder brunet flops down on Charles’ bed, and he catches a glimpse of Pierre’s crownsguard pin on the inside of his overcoat-thing. He’s reminded of the prince, then, whom he hasn’t seen in nearly a full three months - even though they got everything straightened out on that fateful evening, Max still finds it hard to get out of the palace. Charles thinks of penning him letters, dreaming up ways of cleverly sneaking them into the palace, or simply of keeping them in a box and giving it to Max the next time they can meet. 

“Charles?” Pierre asks, aware of the newer mood of the room, and Charles looks back up to find his friend’s intelligent grey-green eyes looking at him searchingly. Charles knows Pierre can read him like an open book, and that he’s been slightly off all evening, but he doesn’t want to bring the other further into his problems. Charles has, of course, told Pierre all about what had happened with Max - it had come spilling out of him that night as the two relaxed in his room - but Charles is reluctant to pull Pierre further into the depths of what he and Max are doing.

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” He waves off the other’s concern, but it doesn’t work, if Pierre’s unimpressed look is any indication. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Come on, Charlot, you can tell me what is on your mind.”

Pierre is clearly not willing to back down on this, so Charles just sighs and lays down next to Pierre.

“It’s about Max - I haven’t seen him since March, and I  _ miss him _ . I wish he wasn’t the stupid prince, so that we could have a normal friendship.” Usually, Pierre would probably be teasing him for his whiny tone, or perhaps the small pout that has settled on his face, but he must see that Charles is genuinely upset about this.

“And…?” He lightly prompts after a minute, and Charles hesitates before telling the rest.

“I’m so worried for him. The first letter he sent me-” Charles shudders a bit, recalling his uneasiness after reading what Max had wrote, “The first letter sounded like he’d be in big trouble if word got out that he was outside the palace. And he was stained with blueberry juice the last time I saw him - that couldn’t have been easy to hide - and I’m not sure if he made it back in safely.”

Charles puts his hands over his face. Saying all this out loud, taking it from the safety of his head, makes it seem all that more real. Charles had, of course, lightly asked Max how things were with his father, and the memory of how Max’s clear eyes had lost their spark at the question does nothing to reassure him.

“Alex and I haven’t been able to see him much lately, and apparently neither has anyone else. I can hear his Highness shouting at Monsire-” (And isn’t it odd for Charles to hear Pierre call Max  _ my liege _ ) “-, but his Highness the King has been putting me and Alex on more of a no-contact guarding duty so I cannot talk to him at all. ” Pierre admits, in a near whisper towards the end. Then he perks up a little, sitting up and rummaging in his nearby satchel. “But speaking of letters, Daniel gave me one for you earlier. I think it’s from Max.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Charles has to ask, because even though that blessed soul has probably given Pierre the so-desired correspondence, he can’t help but wonder what exactly his relation with Max is. If even Pierre and Alex (Max’s _ literal _ future crownsguard) are not allowed to interact with Max, but this  _ Daniel _ is, he must surely be very close with him. Charles tries very hard not to let his put-out expression show on his face, but his friend sees right through it as always.

Pierre pauses his search to laugh at Charles. Charles pouts again, looking away with a blush.

“Mon Dieu, Charles, you can’t be jealous of a person you haven’t met!”

“I’m not jealous!” Charles mumbles, futilely. Pierre shakes his head with a fond smile on his face and goes back to rifling in his bag. After a minute, during which Charles is still stubbornly gazing away, Pierre triumphantly holds up a small, white envelope. He gives it to Charles, who wastes no time in quickly breaking the seal and opening the letter.

_ Dear Charlie, _

_ (Dated, 21st of June, Year 107 After the Awakening) _

Pierre crouches behind Charles, and Charles shifts aside a little bit so that he can see. He knows Pierre won’t judge him (and hopefully Max) for whatever is in this letter, and that the other is definitely curious as to its contents. Charles can’t blame him for his nosiness - they have never hidden things from eachother, and if Pierre didn’t read it with him Charles would probably end up telling him all about it anyway.

_ So it’s been a minute since I’ve been able to get a letter to you. I’m sorry about that. I gave this one to Dan  _ (again, that name, and Charles wanted to find out who this person is more than ever) _ and he said he’d be willing to take more letters back and forth, so hopefully I’ll be able to write to you more. _

_ I got back pretty well, I guess it went as good as it could have. There’s a hole in the old castle’s wall (don’t tell anyone about that, it’s supposed to be a secret) and Carlos caught me while he was on his break from whatever it is he does in that room with Alonso. He helped me get back to the inner chambers of the new castle via a lot of sneaking through passages I didn’t even know existed. I guess that’s his job as the future head of intelligence. _

Charles shakes his head fondly, and Pierre snorts.

“Leave it up to Carlos to know all those dusty old passageways.” Pierre dryly says, “I’m going to have to ask him to show me some of them one of these days.”

_ I don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of the palace anytime soon, though. Father suspects something, even though he isn’t able to prove I wasn’t in the library all day, and I’m literally not allowed to talk to anyone! It’s so boring, I’m stuck doing literature studies or reading war declarations and treaties or whatever. It’s all passing in a blur, Charlie. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in, and every day feels simultaneously like three seconds and a million years. Father watches me like a hawk, and his guards do when he doesn’t. The only reason I can write to you right now is that the guy on duty is Kimi, and as long as I’m not committing outright treason or being a hazard to someone’s health, he doesn’t really care what I’m doing.  _

Charles remembers, with a start, the nice soldier and his regiment from a few months ago. Kimi was the one who didn’t talk, if he recollects correctly - and he didn’t imagine that there would be many ‘Kimis’ in the castle regiment of the guard. 

“Oh yeah, I’ve met Kimi.” Pierre says from where he’s crouched over Charles’ shoulder, “He once told one of His Majesty’s ministers to ‘leave the Prince alone, he knows what he’s doing.’” Pierre chuckles, reliving the moment in his head, and Charles contemplates a little.

It’s good to know that there’s one person that he can maybe consider as safe to tell outside his circle of friends - they are only kids, after all, and he doesn’t know how long they can keep this up before it all unravels. An adult might be good.

(Maybe an adult could tell him why he feels the urge to kiss all of Max’s sorrows away.)

_ Actually, I’ve got to go soon,  _ Max continues,  _ but before I do - can I tell some people about this? No one too much, but maybe just Alex and Pierre (If he doesn’t know already, I swear you two read eachothers’ minds) and a few other guys - Carlos, Dan (my,,, advisor??? I don’t really know what he’s supposed to do, but he’s one of the people I trust most) and my sister.  _ _ Dammit, I don’t even know if you can respond to this, I hope you can because _

There’s an ink blot and some scribbles on the rest of the sentence, and as much as Charles tries to read it, he can’t. Pierre shakes his head when Charles looks at the elder to see if he can make any sense of the messy stain. Whatever it said looks hurriedly crossed off, and a bit smeared, as if Max hadn’t given the ink time to dry before folding it up.

_ Yours Always, _

_ Max _

Charles and Pierre trade another glance. Pierre looks a little unsettled for a moment. Charles feels a bit uneasy too, because of that weirdly rushed and sudden ending.

(Still, the scrawl of  _ yours always _ makes his heart do silly little things in his chest, and in that moment, it feels  _ nice _ .)

Later, Charles talks to Pierre, quickly penning a letter of his own after his friend’s agreement to get Max his reply. Even as he closes it - just a quick tuck-and-fold, nothing fancy like Max’s wax seal- he’s double-thinking, wondering if he should drag Pierre into this ever-larger hole of trouble. That’s dispelled when his friend sees the look on his face, and firmly takes his shoulders and demands him to ‘not make decisions for me, Charles’.

(Letters from Max are sent irregularly, and they vary in how often they come. Charles finds that he doesn’t mind waiting, however long the next one takes.)

  
\--

The third notable letter comes three years later and at fifteen years of age, and is honestly just a short note. This one is also different in that it appears on the doorstep, rather than via Pierre like all the others.

As Charles’ luck usually goes, Arthur finds it, and Charles is forced to endure teasing about his ‘lady love’ from him. He finally wrestles the letter from his little brother’s grasp, and storms to his room upstairs followed by the sound of laughter. 

His annoyance dissipates and anticipation creeps in as he carefully removes the seal, unfolding the envelope with the neat ‘for Charles’ written on it.

There is also worry, about why he hadn’t been given this one by Pierre, but Charles is going to assume the best until proven otherwise.

_ Dear Charlie, _

_ (Dated 14th of March, Year 110 After the Awakening) _

Charles’ eyes widen in surprise. This one is actually dated  _ today _ , so this letter must have gotten out of the castle and to Charles  _ fast. _ This is the first time he’s received a letter this quickly - even the very first one in his basket had the previous day’s date.

_ Come to our spot as soon as you can. I’ve got something I need to tell you! _

_ Max _

Charles turns it over, but that’s all that is written. Max is talking like he’s actually gotten out of the palace, and will be there  _ in person _ to talk to Charles, and brief happiness soars in his chest.

It’s short-lived, though, because then his initial worry makes itself known and he can’t help but wonder what it is Max needs to tell him, what’s so important to risk incurring his father’s wrath, and  _ why this letter was on the doorstep rather than taken straight to Charles? _

Charles’ mind invents a thousand horrible scenarios, from banishment to assasination threats, especially since the previous faction, that Max’s grandfather had seized power from, is still around and they are starting to make bolder and bolder moves-

_ Please, please, please be safe. _

  
  


Charles yells an excuse to Arthur and his mother, shrugging on a coat and setting off towards the forest. His father and Lorenzo are out, negotiating with a farmer for more wheat or something, and they should not be back until the evening.

(Charles ignores that Lorenzo has gone in place of Jules, because Jules wouldn’t want Charles to spend so much sadness on him, and shed tears only anchor the souls of the dead to the land of the living-)

He shakes his head, trying to dislodge these dark thoughts.

_ Remember, you’re going to meet Max. Focus, Charles. _

His steps are hurried as he quickly walks towards their clearing. He hasn’t been here in a while, so the brambles shielding the hollow are thick and a little overgrown. Charles catches sight of a small, freshly-cut path in the barrier, and follows it inside. 

A thistle catches on his shirt, and he tugs at it in vain. It refuses to dislodge, coming loose just as Charles turns to see what exactly has caught him, sending him stumbling backwards into the clearing. He bumps into someone and sends them both sprawling to the ground, the midday sun temporarily blinding him as his head snaps back.

“Aïe!” He mutters softly, laying for a minute to catch his breath. 

“Get off me!” Charles relaxes as he hears that voice - it’s familiar, it’s Pierre, so he just doesn’t move. The elder sighs, resigning himself to being stuck under his friend; and Charles is glad that Pierre didn’t throw more of a deal about it, because maybe that impact against the ground had been harder than he thought and the sunspots still aren’t clearing from his eyes-

Then Max is grinning down at him, a teasing edge to his smile as he offers his hand to Charles. The sun frames Max’s golden hair like a halo, and his clear eyes are aglimmer with merriment as he gazes down at Charles.

“Need some help?” He cheekily asks, and Charles resists the urge to swat the hand that’s currently raising him - speaking of which, Max’s muscles flex deliciously as he hoists the baker up, and Charles has to force himself to look back up at Max’s face. Blood rushes to his ears regardless, but thankfully neither his best friend nor Max seem to notice.

“Thank you, Monsire gentil.” Pierre sarcastically says from behind him, getting up and lightly dusting himself off. Alex makes himself known then, coming through the same path and announcing that the coast was clear, they’re good to stay for a little while longer. 

The appearance of Max’s second crownsguard reminds Charles of his message, and with that comes rushing the worry of what could have gone wrong.

“What did you need to tell me?” Charles breaks into the atmosphere. Pierre leaves them as alone as he can, going to talk with Alex over at the edge of the clearing. If Charles was not so focused on the purpose of his visit, he may have reminisced that this is just like when they were children. Most of them are together again, just like back then before things got complicated. 

Max looks uncertain for a minute, debating, and Charles feels an awful anxiety raise in his chest. He’s gotten enough bad news lately, he doesn’t want more. What if Max’s father had found out, what if his family is in danger? What if Max himself is in trouble, and thus is leaving for somewhere far far away, somewhere he can’t send letters from? 

What if he has decided that he doesn’t want the hassle of sneaking letters back and forth with Charles anymore?

“Listen,” Max starts, and Charles braces. “I know I haven’t been the nicest, or the most present, and the last time we got to spend longer than a day together was when we were both eleven or something, but-” Max cuts himself off, and Charles is not sure where this conversation is going anymore. Pierre is subtly looking at them from where he’s standing, analysing both of their reactions, and when Max glances back in their direction Alex gives him an encouraging thumbs-up.

Max is nervous, Charles realises, and isn’t that a phenomenon?

“I wanted to tell you that you-you’re one of the most important people in my life, Charlie - will you do me the honor of being your boyfriend?”

_ What. _

Charles’ brain practically ceases to function in that moment, because he had not been expecting  _ that. _ And then it all shifts into place - the way his heart speeds up when Max’s letters mention how much he misses him, how he feels an intense longing just to be with him, to wipe his worries away and tell him it will be alright, why he blushes at the slightest contact.

“Father’s busy with the insurgents and he can’t keep that much of an eye on me, and people are telling him to let me out now that I’m older too, so we can actually meet way more often,” Max hurriedly continues in an absence of reply. He’s looking desperately down at Charles, trying to read his reaction, and the baker can see his resolve fading with every word.

_ Well, that won’t do. _

“Yes.” Charles interrupts, finally getting himself together enough to respond. 

“...yes?” Max hesitantly verifies, and Charles nods. 

“Yes.”

Then he’s in Max’s arms, and the other’s lips are on his, and even Pierre’s knowing smirk can’t diminish his ecstatic mood.

\--

It’s two years later and coming to the late evening when a person bearing the royal crest appears on the doorstep. Charles anxiously straightens his clothing and watches as Lorenzo and his mother go to open the door. Arthur is a little farther back, hiding behind the jutting-out wall, and expression on his face is one of mild discomfort. Although Arthur considers Max a friend, and had been accepting enough when Charles’ secret came out to his brothers, royal business still unnerves him - and for good reason.

Charles himself can’t stop the worried twisting of his stomach as the heavy wood swings open. 

“Are you the head of the house?” The messenger gruffly asks, eyeing Pascale skeptically.

“Yes.” She says, confidently, and Charles can see Lorenzo’s hands clench because of the messenger’s tone. “What do you need?”

The man glances at his scroll.

“I’m looking for your son. The baker?” 

Charles' heart jumps in his chest and his breath stutters for a minute. They are looking for him. 

_ They are looking for him. _

_ THEY ARE LOOKING FOR HIM! _

His heart is pounding so loudly that he can hear it from his ears. Arthur comes up to him, anxiously grasping his shoulder. He can feel his brother’s worried breaths right next to him, and he silently steers Arthur further into the shadows and hopefully out of sight.

Pascale’s face sets in a frown, and she looks to be debating just closing the door,  _ consequences be damned, _ and someone outside must see it because suddenly there are soldiers backing up the messenger.

“Ma’am, we would like to take your son to the castle. He’s been summoned immediately.” The messenger repeats, iron in his voice. His mother must have taken too long in responding, because then a soldier shoves her to the ground in pushing past her, while another roughly knocks Lorenzo aside as well. These soldiers are not anyone Charles recognises - the crest signifies them as the King’s crownsguard, and their helmets obstruct any familiarity from view.

“Stay back here.” Charles whispers to Arthur, muffled by Lorenzo’s angry protests of ‘how  _ dare _ you do that to my mother?!’ The middle child stays just long enough to see his younger brother nod, before he’s walking out into the entranceway. 

“That’s me, I’m the baker!” He proclaims. His mother looks up from where Lorenzo is helping her to stand, horror written in her eyes. Lorenzo doesn’t look at Charles, but the younger can see his fear written in the tenseness of his shoulders. 

“Wait!” Lorenzo yells, just as Charles has stepped out of the house, “Please let me come as well!”

This time Lorenzo does glance at him, a quick flicker of his eyes over Charles’ face, and he comes to stand in front of the messenger. The man glances anxiously at his scroll, then up at the sun, and finally decides that it will be more trouble than it’s worth to try and stop Lorenzo from coming along. 

For the entire cart ride, Lorenzo’s hand rests on Charles’ knee, and it brings him comfort. Charles is more frightened than he thought he would be, and feels younger than his seventeen years. It’s that same paralysing feeling he had known when he was five, of hiding in his bed, unknowing of what is causing all those noises downstairs and terrified by the possibilities of what it could be. It steals his breath, grips his chest, and the pounding of his heart is in his ears, and it’s drowning out the whistling wind.

Then they are staring up at the large, imposing stone walls of the castle, and Charles’ breath stutters in his chest again. Rather than letting him walk, this time, the guards accompanying them take him by his arms and haul him off the cart. Lorenzo stays silent behind him, and Charles is briefly thankful. 

Hopefully they can get this over with quickly. 

Charles stumbles through the corridors of the castle, struggling to keep up with the pace that the soldiers have set and thrown off-balance by the occasional sudden turn in the unfamiliar halls.

Eventually they reach a large room, covered in ornate wall drapings. There’s a fire roaring at the far end, but something about the atmosphere gives Charles a chill he can’t shake. Lorenzo is a silently reassuring presence at his back -and as Charles looks around the room, he sees that Jev and Kimi are both here too, with the former looking concernedly at him out of his eye’s corner and the latter being disinterested as always. There’s also a man standing at the dias, silently imposing, and Charles recognises him as the king. He doesn’t say anything, just looking Charles over with disdain as he’s forced to his knees. 

The door at the back swings open and in walks Max, flanked by Pierre and Alex.

_ Oh merde, we’re caught. _ Is the first thought that goes through Charles’ head. The prince’s eyes dart back and forth between Charles and his father, trying to make sense of what he sees, before he schools his expression and turns to face the king. Pierre’s eyes widen a fraction, settling on Charles disbelievingly, and Charles tries to give him a small smile. It would do no good for Pierre to make any rash decisions. 

“Father?” Max asks, and the king rounds on him, a sudden fury on his face.

“Do not speak before you are spoken to!” Jos thunders, and Max flinches slightly, an unsure expression flashing across his face. Charles flinches too, and the guards tighten their grip on his arms. An unreadable expression flickers across Alex’s face, and Pierre’s grip on his spear-thing tightens. 

“Yes sir.” Max says, eyes flicking to the ground. His voice nearly breaks, so quiet that Charles can barely hear it from where he is. Charles wants to go to the other, embrace him in his arms and reassure him that everything will be alright; but at the same time he wants to tear his gaze away so that he won’t have to see Max in pain when he can’t do anything to fix it. 

Pierre catches his gaze, conveying a meaning with his hard look.

_ Stay still, Charles. Don’t show the attachment in front of the king. _

_ I don’t like it. _ Charles responds, and Pierre’s expression softens slightly.

_ I know, _ is conveyed in the slight shrug of his shoulders,  _ none of us do. Stay still anyway. _

“So this is the peasant that you have been wasting your time on.” The sentence is spat out as Jos finally speaks, his icy gaze settling on Max. He can hear the king’s utter disappointment, like Max had  _ one _ job and that he’s failed it by associating with Charles. “You are the crown prince, Max. You cannot be spending your days gallivanting around with some bread-making boy.” The king sneers down at Charles again, and said baker reigns in his fury. There’s no way that he could win against the king, and if Lorenzo can keep his temper, so could Charles.

Max’s brow furrows, briefly, before it’s been smoothed out again.

“It’s not a waste of time, father.” Max maintains, his voice a little bit stronger. Charles glances at Alex and Pierre for cues, because he’s only seen Max interact with his father twice, and neither time had gone well. Concern is plain on Alex’s face, and Pierre seems to be a little shocked. That’s not good. 

“Now you’re  _ talking back _ , are you?” Jos’ voice has gained an edge, and Charles cannot help but watch in horror as the man approaches Max. They are around the same height, Max and his father, but the king towers over a seemingly-frozen Max. “What’s next, boy? Are you going to start doing the women’s tasks? Are you going to start  _ baking _ too? Take over the cooking duties from your disappointment of a sister? Choosing a man to marry instead of a woman?” 

Charles can see how deep those barbs are sinking, but he also sees the minute that all of Max’s fear, his shame, turn into a roaring fire of anger. 

“I’m already gay, and he’s got nothing to do with it! And Victoria is a better person than you will ever be!” Max snaps, and Jos’ face contorts into an enraged snarl. He raises his hand, and before anyone can do anything, he’s slapped Max,  _ hard, _ across the face.

Several things happen in the next minute, not all of which Charles can process. Max goes sprawling to the floor, and Kimi and Jev are both immediately on the king. There are others around the perimeter, but they don’t move to stop the two. Lorenzo has hit one of the people holding Charles on the back of his head, and is grappling with the other as Charles sinks to the floor. 

And Max? Max has a look of terror, near panic, echoing on his face, and he scrambles back and  _ bolts. _ Alex follows after him - to bring him back or to join him, Charles doesn’t know - but Pierre hesitates, caught between helping his brother in all but blood or one of his best friends.

“Go.” Charles whispers, because Max will need Pierre more than Charles does at this point. It’s inaudible, the word, but a flash of understanding crosses Pierre’s face. In the span of a moment, Charles can see Pierre weigh everything. Then he turns and runs after Alex, shooting one last glance at Charles.

He can only hope Pierre finds them quickly.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. ” Lorenzo whispers in his ear, and Charles slowly nods, letting himself be pulled up to his feet and running out after his brother.

  
\--  
  


It takes nearly three months before he gets any word from either Pierre or Max. And it’s not in person either- it’s a letter, just like before. He holds it in his hands, the simple  _ Charles _ on the back with Pierre’s loopy penmanship confirming that this is, indeed, what he has been hoping for every day since that dreadful event.

Charles runs his hand reverently over the wax seal, its small grooves familiar from years of letters. The baker does not know whether Max has a specific stamp he uses on personal letters or something, but it’s always the same one, and Charles has come to regard it as a sign of Max.

Then he opens it.

_ Dear Charlie, _

_ Dated 28th of October, Year 112 After the Awakening _

It’s dated eight days ago, he notices. He hopes that Max isn’t waiting too long for a response, because if it took a week to get Charles his letter it’s going to take even longer for one back.

_ Hey, Max here. I’m writing this letter to tell you that we are safe-ish, or atleast enough so that I have the time and the means to write you this letter. Pierre and Alex are with me, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, but Carlos also joined us on the way out. So now it’s just the four of us on the run, haha. _

_ I’ve been hearing news from the kingdom- we are in a border village, it’s barely big enough for the ink that marks it on the maps - and there’s apparently something about a coup? Father isn’t on the throne anymore??? Are Vic and Mum okay? Are you and your family okay? _

_ Speaking of which, I’m sorry about that entire thing at the palace. I would like to be here to tell you myself, but I don’t think I can put you in that line of fire anymore - especially considering what I’ve heard. I should have been more careful. I’m so sorry, Charlie. Het spijt me.  _

More than ever, Charles wishes he could talk to Max, face-to-face. It’s not Max’s fault (could never  _ be _ Max’s fault) that his father is a d*ckhead. And if it means that he will come home, Charles is willing to step in any line of fire. They can get through this together, because Charles knew what he was getting into the moment he said ‘yes’ to him all those years ago. Alas, Charles has to sate himself with writing letters and hoping that his best friend and his boyfriend keep as much of an eye on eachother as they have always kept on him.

_ Anyway, Carlos apparently knows a friend who is in the little rebellion things and he knows a guy in the kingdom postal - and that’s how I can get you this, by the way. If you want to respond, just address it to ‘Super Max’ and leave it in that unmarked postbox by Lauda’s Well. _

Charles chuckles. Who came up with ‘Super Max’? Whoever it is, he needs to give them a hug, because they have inadvertently given Charles his next nickname for Max.

_ And no, before you even think it, don’t call me that. I’m going to have to punch Dan the next time I see him.  _

Too late, Charles thinks, he’s  _ definitely _ calling Max that the next time they see eachother. Max should know that Charles will not pass up a chance to tease him - especially if he’s got Daniel as an ally.

_ Oh, and he’s wrapped up in all this stuff, too. As are Kimi and Jev, those soldiers from the other day. And Alonso, the head of Intelligence, and Dany, the weapons guy. _

Wow, alright. Charles feels his eyebrows raise in disbelief. That’s a lot of the castle staff, not to mention that there are probably more people scattered throughout the city and the castle. 

_ ….yeah, I normally would be more betrayed at half the castle scheming to overthrow my dad, but they did save me from my father’s wrath, so I guess I can’t be too bitter.  _

_ Either way, we are in a relatively safe spot. We’re going to make the decision on whether or not to temporarily cross into the neighboring kingdom in the next few days. These guys from the rebellion are actually pretty nice to me, even the ones who know that I am the prince. Not a lot of people do, but Carlos apparently is close enough to that guy I mentioned earlier to tell him, and I trust Carlos’ judgement. _

_ Lastly, I don’t even know if you’ll want to respond to me after what happened. Pierre says you will, but my dad said some pretty bad stuff and I don’t blame you if you just prefer to cut contact. Just send a short note or something if you don’t want to get anymore letters. _

Charles has to read that again to make sure he didn’t misunderstand something. How could Max even think that Charles would not want the correspondence? He’ll have to talk to his family, he’s not stupid and he knows this is a risk for all of them, but he is going to fight as hard as he can to make sure he and Max can stay in contact.

He’s lost his father, he’s lost Jules, he can’t lose Max too.

_ Yours Always, _

_ Max. _

_ Note- there should be another letter in the envelope too from Pierre. _

Charles turns back to the discarded letter-sleeve, to find that there is indeed correspondence from his friend. It says pretty much the same things that Max’s does, of course with Pierre’s special way with words. He smiles at his friend’s disbelief that Alex apparently carries a journal on him at all times, and just like Max’s this letter ends with an encouragement to write back - only it’s more of a demand rather than a request. 

(Later, as he sits with his own pen and ink at the table, he reflects on what he wants to tell Max.

A lot can happen in three months. A lot  _ has _ happened in three months. Charles’ entire life has been flipped upside down in three months. 

So he sits, and he writes - about how the rebellion has good intentions, but here in the capital-surround the lack of a leadership has been felt more keenly than in the outskirts. He tells of how Princess Victoria and the Queen have gone back to the Queen’s homeland on a deal with the rebels, but also that in the confusion the rebellion has found itself forced back by  _ outside _ troops who want a claim to a throne. It hasn’t escalated into direct violence yet, but Lorenzo does have to take Charles and three knives with him whenever he’s getting supplies or selling anywhere farther than a half-day away, and no one is ever left unarmed or alone in the house or the bakery.

He also tells Max that it’s not his fault, and that  _ you and Pierre had better keep writing me letters or else _ , and reminds him to stay safe.

_ I love you _ , he writes with a twisting in his heart,  _ -your Charles. ) _

  
  


Over the next little while, Charles accumulates a plethora of letters, from Max, from Pierre, and even a few from Carlos and Alex. 

He keeps all of them in an old wooden box, adding to the small pile he already has growing from the previous years’ back-and-forth. Things like ink are also growing scarce as the conflict between the rebels and the puppet government of the next-door country progresses, but Charles makes his best effort to pen a letter back whenever he gets one. 

The aching in his heart grows with the pile of letters, and getting a new one is always a bittersweet feeling. None of them tell Charles the one thing that he desperately wants to hear, and he can see Lorenzo’s growing concern over his lovesickness. His mother even tries to approach him about it, but he snaps at her - and apologises directly afterwards, because she is only looking after him.

_ (I want to come home. I miss you so much _ , is written in one of Max’s letters, and it nearly brings Charles to tears.

_ Come home then! _ He wants to shout,  _ Come back home! _

He doesn’t and instead writes that he will be waiting here when Max does eventually return.)

Charles also can’t seem to catch whomever it is that keeps leaving the letters for Charles to find. The letters just  _ appear _ , as if by magic, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason to when they are left. He wants to thank them, maybe bake them something, and then ask if they know where Max is.

( _ The rebellion people are telling me that I could be a candidate for the throne, because I technically am the heir apparent, _ Max writes in a later letter.  _ They all seem confident in me but I’m not sure if I’m cut out for that. What if I end up becoming like my dad?  _

_ It’s getting worse here in the capital, mon amour. _ Charles sends back,  _ We need a leader. And do not worry - you are much different from your father, and I will always be here to give you a reality check. _

Pierre tells him that they are looking towards going back to the capital if Max agrees to become king. Charles feels a smile grow on his face, and he wastes no time in penning a letter back to his best friend.)

Life goes on, as always. Lorenzo decides that they need more income than can be found in the bakery and takes an apprenticeship somewhere else in the town. It makes the situation a little better - the metal-shop that Lorenzo has apprenticed with seems to be stable, and the elder enjoys it, but that also means Charles has to go by himself to carry out what he and Lorenzo would usually do together. Arthur had asked if Charles wanted him to come along, but his little brother is still only fifteen and Charles doesn’t want to leave his mum and the bakery alone. Charles is busier, with more things to take care of and more things to be aware of, but he always makes time to read letters and leave his own at Lauda’s Well. 

He eventually does find the person that leaves the letters - a boy, younger than him, named George. The other freezes when Charles initially calls out, but then the baker invites him inside for dinner and George doesn’t refuse. He introduces the post-worker to his family - Lorenzo just nods, Pascale is kind as always, and Arthur seems to really hit it off with him. 

George doesn’t know where Max is, but he seems marginally happier when he leaves the house, and Charles tells him that he’s welcome back anytime.

(Eight months and countless letters after the Incident at the castle, Charles finally,  _ finally _ , gets the news that he has been waiting for.

_ We’re coming home, Charlot _ , Pierre’s letter says,  _ Max has decided he’s going to take the throne. _

Charles stares. Then a shaky smile grows on his face, and he hugs the piece of paper to his chest. He sinks to his knees and before he knows it, small tears are hitting the worn oak of the floor below. His mother is alarmed when she finds him crying, but he just shows her the piece of paper. She seems to understand, and settles down next to him to take him into a hug.

Charles only later comprehends the second part of that sentence, that Max will be throwing himself head-first into this fray, but that only dampens his spirit for a second until the excitement is back.)

The tension finally breaks, and the streets have come to be a full-out warzone. It’s not uncommon anymore to see rebels -or even  _ civilians _ \- lining up carts and stacks of baskets to block the pathways through the town, or quickly ducking behind corners after throwing stones at the patrolling guards. The guards are armed with their own swords, spears, and arrows, all of which they do not hesitate to use. No one seems to care about the people caught in the middle. 

Charles doesn’t go outside anymore, if he can help it. Arthur, his young and idealistic brother, wants to go out and join the fighting, but all three of his elders forbid him quite firmly. The bakery stays open, if only because Charles knows people who come here to get their only food for meals. Lorenzo has chosen to continue making his treacherous journey across the town everyday to the metalshop, but it is worth it because he can get them proper swords to defend themselves with. 

Charles watches his mother shakingly hold up a sword, changing things every so often as Lorenzo kindly corrects her form. The weapon looks strange and out of place in Pascale’s tiny hands, and he hopes in that moment with every fiber of his being that she will never have to use what she has learned. 

_ Max, where are you? _ He wonders, desperation clawing at his heart. A part of him still believes that all of this will stop once the heir to the throne is back, but he knows it’s not actually that simple. 

God, how he wishes it was. 

He never thought he would see his gentle mother learning to wield a sword. 

( _ Come home, come home. I need you. I don’t know what to do in this world gone mad. _ Charles writes despairingly one night. He’s not had correspondence from anyone in Max’s party since that letter from Pierre two months ago, and he can only assume that they are making their way back. He has no intention of sending this one, but it feels good to write out his frustrations. 

He folds the letter and keeps it with all his others. Maybe he can look back on it one day and think of it with a bittersweet feeling.)

Then, one night, he’s awoken by furious pounding on his door. He opens it to a half-frantic George, and immediately pulls the other in before demanding an explanation. The messenger pants for a moment, hands on his knees, and Charles looks up to see his mother and Lorenzo descending slowly down the stairs. 

When George can finally speak, he tells them that Max and the others are back in the city - Charles is stopped from interrupting by his mother’s  _ look _ \- and he, Pierre, and Alex are taking shelter in the wood just outside the limits of the town. Carlos is apparently already out, trying to get information on the new regime. Charles isn’t even surprised - that man doesn’t seem to know how to stop working.

They have sent George ahead because both Pierre and Max want confirmation that it’s okay for them to come see Charles, because of the current situation and the fact that they are wanted people. Charles appreciates the thought, but really, he’s been waiting for nearly a year at this point and there’s absolutely no way he’s going to abandon his best friend and his boyfriend when they might need him most. It’s not even a  _ choice _ for him.

“Don’t make a hasty decision,” Lorenzo chides. His brow furrows as he thinks on the situation, and Pascale looks on silently from the background. There’s something in her eyes, and Charles desperately wants to know what her opinion is on this matter, but then a voice surprises all of them.

“I think you should go.” And it’s Arthur, leaning casually on the doorframe. He walks into the room, where he engages in a staring contest with Lorenzo. George slowly backs out of the room, the tension in the air not lost on him.

“Why? What about the bakery?” Lorenzo finally asks, breaking the look and settling his eyes on Charles.

“I can take care of the bakery,” Arthur cuts in, “I know you guys think of me like a baby, but I am nearly sixteen. And-” He hesitates, eyes darting from Charles, to Lorenzo, to their mother, to the ground, “Enzo, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Charles smile as much as he does when he’s with Max. Or reading a letter from him. He makes him happy.” Now, addressing Charles, and the baker finds himself wondering when Arthur has grown up so much, “So go be there for him when it matters. I know you’d rather be with him then stuck here, worrying about how he is doing out there.”

“I will support you if you want to go help them, mon fils.” Pascale says from the back, and Charles turns to her in surprise. She comes up to him, kissing him lightly on the nose and giving him a fond look. He takes her in a hug, and she gives him a tight squeeze before stepping back. 

Then he turns to Lorenzo.

His eldest brother still looks unhappy about the entire situation, but he eventually sighs and puts his head in his hands. 

“Alright, fine.” He grinds out, sounding a little defeated, and Charles is internally rejoicing even though he doesn’t like going against his brother. He’s going to see Max and Pierre. After so long, they are going to be  _ right there _ and he will be able to give them both a hug for the first time in  _ nearly a year- _

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” Arthur says, yawning, and their mother also follows him upstairs. Charles is about to step into the other room and ask George how long they have before they leave when Lorenzo catches him by the hand. 

“Look, Charles,” He starts, looking unsure. Charles stops in his tracks, waiting to hear what the eldest has to say to him. Then, Lorenzo pulls him into a hug as well. “Just...be safe, okay?” He asks, and Charles can hear a barely-present waver in his voice. 

_ He’s worried for me, _ the baker realises, and he returns his older brother’s embrace. 

“I will.” He promises, “I will.”

_I'm coming, Max. Welcome home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, tout le monde!
> 
> The next one is here! I am hoping that everyone had a good Christmas and a good New Year! 
> 
> I hope everyone liked this section! It is inspired by _In Love and War_ by nj_1996. If you have not seen it yet, you should definitely read it - I really enjoyed it so far. 
> 
> The next one (and the final one!) will be being a Coffee-shop thing, as of right now.
> 
> I will be keeping this note short and wrapping it up now.
> 
> Merci à tous!


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